Thoughts so all unlike each other;
To mutter and mock a broken charm,
To dally with wrong that does no harm.
Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty
At each wild word to feel within
A sweet recoil of love and pity.
And what, if in a world of sin
(Oh sorrow and shame should this be true!)
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,