| wagon-wheel | | 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. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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