To GARRYOWEN upon an organ ground <br />Two girls are jigging. Riotously they trip, <br />With eyes aflame, quick bosoms, hand on hip, <br />As in the tumult of a witches' round. <br />Youngsters and youngsters round them prance and bound. <br />Two solemn babes twirl ponderously, and skip. <br />The artist's teeth gleam from his bearded lip. <br />High from the kennel howls a tortured hound. <br />The music reels and hurtles, and the night <br />Is full of stinks and cries; a naphtha-light <br />Flares from a barrow; battered and obtused <br />With vices, wrinkles, life and work and rags, <br />Each with her inch of clay, two loitering hags <br />Look on dispassionate--critical--something 'mused.<br /><br />William Ernest Henley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-dials/
