My soul in your bright presence, like a bird,
Flutters within its cage, which is my heart;
And when you smile its deepest song is stirred,
And when you frown I need dissembling art.

Horny the shell that hides me from the gaze
Of keener eyes and sharper wits than yours;
For them there is an anger swift to blaze,
Indifference so wide it has no shores.

But I am like a child beneath your eye,
Wanting the bolts of consciousness to keep
Safe-housed the soul that otherwhiles will lie
Calmly within its garrison asleep.
. . . .

Shall littleness of love itself excuse?
Or weakness ask pity to build its dome?
Not so: let me such beggary refuse,
And build for you, within myself, a home.