Fresco Sonnets, 3

I laugh at all the fools who at me gape,
And whom with prying goat-like face I see;
I laugh at every fox who knavishly
And idly snuffs me like a very grape;
I laugh at every vain pretentious ape,
Who a proud judge of genius claims to be;
I laugh at all the knaves who threaten me
With poisonous weapons whence there’s no escape.
For when the charming fancies joy once gave
Are wrested from us by the hands of fate,
And at our feet in thousand atoms cast,
And when our very heart is torn at last,
All torn and cut and pierced and desolate,
A fine shrill laugh we still have power to save.