Classic Poem

Straight from the house projects an oaken pole
Whence an inexplicable sign is pendent.
The painter must have been some maddened soul
Born when the wildest stars were in the ascendent,
Whose brush was restive, and disdained control,
Whose careless colours singularly splendent.
No matter: words beneath are written fair . . .
Inn OF S TRANGE M EETINGS is the legend there.