In the spell of order’s brief demise
the anarchy of slumber plies
a stimulating trade
lading senses’ dense receipts
through synapses to deeper seats.
But in this shifting some persist
in scenes that sense cannot resist;
they entertain the rapid eye;
compel the quiet tongue to speak,
and puppeteer the twitching limbs
that let their motive power leak,
until the clock’s alarmed lament
insinuates a dull report
and interrupts the antic flow
to cut the shallow madness short.