You lie in Shelley’s arms, condemned,
In the sweetest bed,
Far from the public sun.
Banished by the morality of the crowd,
You fear your love-making is too loud,
For with discovery,
All you built with chaste lips will fall
And public disgrace
Will ruin your face
That Shelley now rains kisses on.
You would fly a kite
By the sea with him—but cannot.
Fate chose you and this is your lot.
Secrecy is your sea.
The world is Shelley, Shelley, Shelley!