WHY on a day, half unawares and swift,
Rent I the silence-veil 'twixt soul and soul?
And flung down recklessly the very whole
Of all I was and am, for you to sift
The will-work of me out from passion-drift,
And know my best and worst, and so enrol
Me where I merit place 'tween start and goal;
In risk of trust, that justly you would lift
My meaning from my madness, shapely still,
Not utterly dishevelled nor quite weak;
Just one soul's voice the more, elect to speak,
Since having known the vale it chose the hill?
Why did I pour unbidden in your ear
The foolish tale?--Art's pride, in sooth, was here.