Explore "Madness?" by Helen Hay Whitney on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They say I'm mad because I stare And look as tho' they were not there, Because I only speak when aught Occurs to me by way of thought.
Instead of serving Fashion's creeds, I cut my coat to fit my needs. I laugh at grief and only weep When noisy life disturbs my sleep.
My dreams are delicate and wild; Was ever wise man so beguiled? -- Mad, am I mad! -- then pray that you May some day hope for madness too!