AGAINST UNWORTHY PRAISE
 
 O HEART, be at peace, because
 Nor knave nor dolt can break
 What's not for their applause,
 Being for a woman's sake.
 Enough if the work has seemed,
 So did she your strength renew,
 A dream that a lion had dreamed
 Till the wilderness cried aloud,
 A secret between you two,
 Between the proud and the proud.
 What, still you would have their praise!
 But here's a haughtier text,
 The labyrinth of her days
 That her own strangeness perplexed;
 And how what her dreaming gave
 Earned slander, ingratitude,
 From self-same dolt and knave;
 Aye, and worse wrong than these.
 Yet she, singing upon her road,
 Half lion, half child, is at peace.