The Inn of Dreams/A Song Against Care
A Song Against Care
O Care!Thou art a cloak too heavy to be borne,Glittering with tears, and gay with painted lies(For seldom—seldom art thou stained and torn,Showing a tattered lining, and the bareBruised body of thy wearer); thou art fairTo look at, O thou garment of our pride!A net of colours, thou dost catch the wise;He lays aside his wisdom for thy sake . . .And Beauty hides her loveliness in thee . . .And after . . . when men know the agonyOf thy great weight of splendour, and would shake Thee swiftly from their shoulders, cast asideThe burden of thy jewelled bands that breakTheir very hearts . . . often it is too late.They fear the world will mock them and derideWhen they are stripped of all their golden state.But some are brave . . . but some among us dareCry out against thy torment and be free!And I would rather a gay beggar be,And go in rags for all eternity,Than that thy clanking pomp should cover me,O Care! . . .