And love only a pretty, human hoax.
Do I not see what all their laughter cloaks,
And know that really they would gladly die,
Rather than idly pass your beauty by,
Which all the dreaming of their hearts invokes.
They are ingenious fellows and will play,
But in the elements they are the same
As I, building the altars of their souls
To something that is nameless in a name,
And, like a bell upon the night-tide, tolls