Of beauty’s cruelty and wisdom’s chatter—
    Out of that raving tide—is drawn betwixt
    Deformity of body and of mind.
Aherne. Were not our beds far off I’d ring the bell,
    Stand under the rough roof-timbers of the hall
    Beside the castle door, where all is stark
    Austerity, a place set out for wisdom
    That he will never find; I’d play a part;
    He would never know me after all these years
    But take me for some drunken country man;
    I’d stand and mutter there until he caught
    ‘Hunchback and saint and fool,’ and that they came
    Under the three last crescents of the moon,
    And then I’d stagger out. He’d crack his wits
    Day after day, yet never find the meaning.
    And then he laughed to think that what seemed hard
    Should be so simple—a bat rose from the hazels
    And circled round him with its squeaky cry,
    The light in the tower window was put out.

  By PanEris using Melati.

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