Censored lies that mimic truth …
Censored truth as pale as fear …
My heart is like a rousing bell—
And but the dead to hear …

My heart is like a mother bird,
Circling ever higher,
And the nest-tree rimmed about
By a forest fire …

My heart is like a lover foiled
By a broken stair—
They are fighting to-night in Sackville Street,
And I am not there!