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