Behold with me," he moaned, "a scene accurst.
The springs are broken and the sofa's burst!"
Too true! Too true! Beneath you on the floor
Lay blent in ruin all the obscure things
That were the sofa's strength, a scattered store
Of tacks and battens and protruded springs.
Through the rent ticking they had all been spilt,
Mute proofs and mournful of your weight and guilt.
And you? You slept as sweetly as a child,
And when you woke you recked not of your shame,