While The Billy BoilsSearchOf Beauty one shall sing,Another Love shall praise,As Faith or Fancy wing,Or Fashion-flight essays.Among life’s drabs and greysI strike the lyre she lent,My dame of wilful ways —My Lady Discontent.
Where Wagedom’s lashes sting,And Debt’s grim dolors craze,And Custom’s usurers wringThe red gold from the days,Their rapine creed to raze,To baffle “Cent. per Cent.,”A psychic sword she sways —My Lady Discontent.
Where rites fallacious cling,And Anti-Christ betrays,She is the secret springThat from the dark doth raiseOr ghosts of Pere la Chaise,Or Veil o’ the Temple rent,A saviour, still she slays —My Lady Discontent.
Yea, Bards, with lights that dazePoor souls in bondage pentShe sets the world ablaze —My Lady Discontent.