Sometimes I laugh—what else can a man do br Who does not know ? This little ego here br Braving the void, this fleck upon the blue, br This filmy wing sounding the starry sphere— br What bold abysmal incongruity, br What joke of the gods to make a mock of me ! br br I hear you sing, and wonder how you dare. br Too fine for song they are—the tint of the rose, br The touch of a child, love's beauty and despair, br All the sad furtive exquisiteness that blows, br Like scent of gardens I may never see, br Across my sense to make a mock of me.