  And when discovery marred the best disguise He winced a sigh, bowed to a spoiled deceit, And donned the damask draperies of defeat To woo dishonour as an enterprise. His self-betrayal had its tenderness And reared an outland refuge for his pride, For all were baffled telling how he lied, Since more than any guessed he would confess. He died a hero in Fifth Avenue One yellowed day saving a tattered man. But in the litter of his passing breath A prayer lay lest one should misconstrue. It was an accident—and he began A last profound apology to death. |
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