She had a laugh
That took Joy by the hand
And made it dance tip-toe.
And her eyes danced
Till laughter out of Grief
Would overflow.

Wild as a spot of sun
Upon a windy day
Her heart was,
Ever at play!

Was , did I say?
Well
In a padded cell,
Three hundred sixty three,
She picks the sunbeams now
From off her knee,
And flings them from her and cries,
" Vile — they 're vile!"