For all the glare of the lights
That seem to have nothing hidden,
The ancient luminous shadows
Come here, even here, unbidden.

The music is overloud,
And the laughter is like to cries,
But the old significant silences
Sometimes conquer and rise.

I sense in these futile revels
The desire of the race,
And an unattainable beauty
On each weary or wanton face.

Here where all folly is loud,
And is spread for all to see,
I am ever surely aware
Of wisdom and mystery.