THE TIDINGS

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!