Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/220

 ET the foul Scene proceed:
 * There's laughter in the wings;

'Tis sawdust that they bleed,
 * But a box Death brings.

How rare a skill is theirs
 * These extreme pangs to show,

How real a frenzy wears
 * Each feigner of woe!

Gigantic dins uprise!
 * Even the gods must feel

A smarting of the eyes
 * As these fumes upsweal.

Strange, such a Piece is free,
 * While we Spectators sit,

Aghast at its agony,
 * Yet absorbed in it!

Dark is the outer air.
 * Cold the night draughts blow

Mutely we stare, and stare
 * At the frenzied Show.