O life with the sad seared face,
        I weary of seeing thee,
And thy draggled cloak, and thy hobbling pace,
        And thy too-forced pleasantry!

   I know what thou would’st tell
        Of Death, Time, Destiny —
I have known it long, and know, too, well
        What it all means for me.

   But canst thou not array
        Thyself in rare disguise,
And feign like truth, for one mad day,
        That Earth is Paradise?

   I’ll tune me to the mood,
        And mumm with thee till eve;
And maybe what as interlude
        I feign, I shall believe!

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