Indeed, where shall you hide from claws
Cat-swift and aiming at your throat?
Where shelter from the evil paws
Soft-footing and the bright rank coat?
Never cry truth, for he will turn
A cruel light on your hiding place;
Never cry beauty—she will burn
Upon your mind the whiskered face.
Draw in your belt, sharpen your tongue,
Here is a respite on your flight:
Turn to the unbelieving young
Who do not credit beast-by-night.
Here any noise may be a mouse.
The norm is laughter. You may with guile
Adopt the manners of this house
And rest here–for a little while.
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