A law that's sane, a Love that's free, and men of every birth and blood Allied in one great brotherhood of Art and Joy and Poverty. . . . The open cafe-windows frame loungers at their liqueurs and beer, And walking past them one can hear fragments of Tosca and Boheme. And in the brilliant-lighted door of cinemas the barker calls, And lurid posters paint the walls with scenes of Love and crime and war. But follow past the flaming lights, borne onward with the stream of feet, Where Bullier's further up the street is marvellous on Thursday nights. Here all Bohemia flocks apace; you could not often find elsewhere So many happy heads and fair assembled in one time and place. Under the glare and noise and heat the galaxy of dancing whirls, Smokers, with covered heads, and girls dressed in the costume of the street. From tables packed around the wall the crowds that drink and frolic there Spin serpentines into the air far out over the reeking hall, That, settling where the coils unroll, tangle with pink and green and blue The crowds that rag to "Hitchy-koo" and boston to the "Barcarole". . . . Here Mimi ventures, at fifteen, to make her debut in romance, And join her sisters in the dance and see the life that they have seen. Her hair, a tight hat just allows to brush beneath the narrow brim, Docked, in the model's present whim, 'frise' and banged above the brows. Uncorseted, her clinging dress with every step and turn betrays, In pretty and provoking ways her adolescent loveliness, As guiding Gaby or Lucile she dances, emulating them In each disturbing stratagem and each lascivious appeal. Each turn a challenge, every pose an invitation to compete, Along the maze of whirling feet the grave-eyed little wanton goes, And, flaunting all the hue that lies in childish cheeks and nubile waist, She passes, charmingly unchaste, illumining ignoble eyes. . . . But now the blood from every heart leaps madder through abounding veins As first the fascinating strains of "El Irresistible" start. Caught in the spell of pulsing sound, impatient elbows lift and yield The scented softnesses they shield to arms that catch and close them round, Surrender, swift to be possessed, the silken supple forms beneath To all the bliss the measures breathe and all the madness they suggest. Crowds congregate and make a ring. Four deep they stand and strain to see The tango in its ecstasy of glowing lives that clasp and cling. Lithe limbs relaxed, exalted eyes fastened on vacancy, they seem To float upon the perfumed stream of some voluptuous Paradise, Or, rapt in some Arabian Night, to rock there, cradled and subdued, In a luxurious lassitude of rhythm and sensual delight. And only when the measures cease and terminate the flowing dance They waken from their magic trance and join the cries that clamor "Bis!" . . . Midnight adjourns the festival. The couples climb the crowded stair, And out into the warm night air go singing fragments of the ball.