As I go forth from fair to mart <br />With racket ringing, <br />Who would divine that in my heart <br />Mad larks are singing. <br />As I sweet sympathy express, <br />Lest I should pain them, <br />The money-mongers cannot guess <br />How I disdain them. <br /> <br />As I sit at some silly tea <br />And flirt and flatter <br />How I abhor society <br />And female chatter. <br />As I with wonderment survey <br />Their peacock dresses, <br />My mind is wafted far away <br />To wildernesses. <br /> <br />As I sit in some raucous pub, <br />Taboo to women, <br />And treat myself to greasy grub <br />I feel quite human. <br />Yet there I dream, despite the din, <br />Of God's green spaces, <br />And sweetly dwell the peace within <br />Of sylvan graces. <br /> <br />And so I wear my daily mask <br />Of pleasant seeming, <br />And nobody takes me to task <br />For distant dreaming; <br />A happy hypocrite am I <br />Of ambiance inner, <br />Who smiling make the same reply <br />To saint and sinner.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/detachment/
