But is there such a thing as happiness Conduct is never a straight index where the heart's involved Deep as a mother's, pure as a virgin's, fiery as a saint's Foolish trick of thinking for herself Fortitude leaned so much upon the irony Grand air of pitying sadness Ironical fortitude Longing for love and dependence Love of men and women as a toy that I have played with Pain is a cloak that wraps you about She was sick of personal freedom Watch, and wait Went into endless invalid's laughter Why should these men take so much killing? You can master pain, but not doubt