 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
AT HOME.
How many dare to knock at their own door,And have with Self a quiet tête-à-tête,
Quite to themselves, and quite dispassionate;
A quiet “at home;” with only that One more
Who must be, just to help make up the score!
Thy soul “in undress” dar'st thou contemplate,
In Truth's sunflattering glass, thy naked state,
That which behind is as well as before?
Happy the man who there can Self survey,
Nor, looking down, behold “the cloven foot;”
Nor up, the Satyr's horns; nor in the clay
Of poor Humanity such flaws, that brute
(Say our Gorilla-coz.) would turn away,
And “Man” disown, scorning to follow suit!
| Stones from The Quarry | |