Hear Mr. Bulwer as he talks.
You might think he was so cheerful.
That smile took him ages to get
And he uses it this minute.
That tone of voice, so managed,
Smooths the milieu of the afternoon.
He talks as a brook ripples,
As a snake glides,
As a leaf smooths itself out,
As a sheet of fabric decides to
Yet there's a mystery of a heart,
Connected irremediably with Mr.
The darkness of it goes back for
It is deeper than abysses
However noteworthily frightening.
It is allied to the condors of chosen,
And ever so lofty twilight glooms.
It is a heart that in the very midst
of the unseen
(Even as it is in him)
Goes suddenly wide,
Topples, rises, widens again,
And is still widening.
Happy, happy Mr. Bulwer -
That you are more than you show,
More than you talk,
More than your tone.
Happy, happy Mr. Bulwer
You are more than you chose to see.
Go, be ashamed in your happiness,
Go revel in your subterranean shame,
Now a space of glory before your
In the all-permitting, delicately