Thy beauty! ballades, sonnets it! and makes
A lyric of each heart-beat—all in vain:
Thou dost not heed, thou wilt not hear it sing.
Or, if thou dost, 'tis but in wantonness,
Indifference pretending interest: then praise,
A moiety, in mockery. And this
To one who'd love thee over all belief,
Above all women and beyond all men."
She strummed her lute. He listened, and then laughed,
"God's life! our Dagonet might teach me sense,