They have moulded my face with a tear and a sneer.
They have sandalled me with caprice,
And the heart they have given me
Is a bag of red tissue-paper.
Their loves are ragged and fat
And seek the consolation
Of a tinkling effigy!
But even an effigy may wink
An eye at its slinking masters!
I can laugh at their frantic, tattered arms
Spinning me into impish posturings,
And jeer at the faces behind me!
After my play I go to sleep,
But they must sit, heavily looking at each other.