  They have moulded my face with a tear and a sneer. They have sandalled me with caprice, And the heart they have given me Is a bag of red tissue-paper. Their loves are ragged and fat And seek the consolation Of a tinkling effigy! But even an effigy may wink An eye at its slinking masters! I can laugh at their frantic, tattered arms Spinning me into impish posturings, And jeer at the faces behind me! After my play I go to sleep, But they must sit, heavily looking at each other. |
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