For the foul² winds blow：

    Our minds are at their best this night，

    And I seem to know

    That everything outside us is

    Mad as the mist and snow.

    Horace there by Homer stands，

    Plato stands below，

    And here is Tully‘s open page.

    How many years ago

    Were you and I unlettered lads

    Mad as the mist and snow？

    You ask what makes me sigh， old friend，

    What makes me shudder³ so？

    I shudder and I sigh to think

    That even Cicero

    And many-minded Homer were

    Mad as the mist and snow.