Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/209



a placid brow, And tear-unstained cheek, To bear as I do now A heart that well could break; To simulate a smile Amid the wrecks of grief,— To herd among the vile, And therein seek relief,— For the bitterness of thought. Were joyance dearly bought.

When will man learn to bear His heart nailed on his breast, With all its lines of care In nakedness confessed?— Why, in this solemn mask Of passion-wasted life, Will no one dare the task, To speak his sorrows rife?— Will no one bravely tell, His bosom is a hell?