O heart， be at peace， because

    Nor knave¹ nor dolt² can break

    What‘s not for their applause，

    Being for a woman‘s sake.

    Enough if the work has seemed，

    So did she your strength renew，

    A dream that a lion had dreamed

    Till the wilderness³ cried aloud，

    A secret between you two，

    Between the proud and the proud.

    What， still you would have their praise！

    But here‘s a haughtier⁴ text，

    The labyrinth⁵ of her days

    That her own strangeness perplexed⁶；

    And how what her dreaming gave

    Earned slander⁷， ingratitude⁸，

    From self-same dolt and knave；

    Aye， and worse wrong than these.

    Yet she， singing upon her road，

    Half lion， half child， is at peace.

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