The poem
We, too, had known golden hours When body and soul were in tune, Had danced with our true loves By the light of a full moon, And sat with the wise and good As tongues grew witty and gay Over some noble dish Out of Escoffier; Had felt the intrusive glory Which tears reserve apart, And would in the old grand manner Have sung from a resonant heart. But, pawed-at and gossiped-over By the promiscuous crowd, Concocted by editors Into spells to befuddle the crowd, All words like Peace and Love, All sane affirmative speech, Had been soiled, profaned, debased To a horrid mechanical screech. No civil style survived That pandaemonioum But the wry, the sotto-voce, Ironic and monochrome: And where should we find shelter For joy or mere content When little was left standing But the suburb of dissent?