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 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
I am alone: the birds care not for me,
Except to sing a little farther off,
With looks that say, “What does this fellow here:
The loud brook babbles only for the flowers:
The mountain and the forest take me not
Into their meditations; I disturb
Their silence, as a child that drags his toy
Across a chapel's porch. The viewless ones
Who flattered me to claim their company
By gleams of thought they tossed to me for alms,
About their grander matters turn, nor deign
To notice me, unless it were to say—
As we put off a troublesome child—“There, go!
Men are your fellows, go and mate with them!”
Except to sing a little farther off,
With looks that say, “What does this fellow here:
The loud brook babbles only for the flowers:
The mountain and the forest take me not
Into their meditations; I disturb
Their silence, as a child that drags his toy
Across a chapel's porch. The viewless ones
Who flattered me to claim their company
By gleams of thought they tossed to me for alms,
About their grander matters turn, nor deign
To notice me, unless it were to say—
As we put off a troublesome child—“There, go!
Men are your fellows, go and mate with them!”
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |