Afraid to turn again and look behind,
Lest truth should flame and overwhelm the mind,
Fanning her red regret of old delights.
The mimicry of woe that is a trouble
To them that practise it, but which to those
To whom the joy is owed makes sorrow double
Seeing the debtor destitute that owes.
The tinselling of cruel bars, to blind
The cagèd bird to think the hand is kind
Which liberty denies and food bestows.