The shouts of happy boys he does not hear,
Nor knows that wretched men must toil for bread;
The tragedy of life he has not read,
Or deems it but the comedy of fear:
He never lifts his eyes above the ground
To gaze upon the glittering world of stars;
The poet's richest music only mars
The rasping of the locust's strident sound.
And yet I've never seen a wilder light
Glow in the beauteous eyes of dawning love,
Than flashes from this strange man's soul at sight
Of some rare flower he finds in mountain cove:
Mere fungus, or the poisonous, dank mushroom,
Enchants him more than rich magnolia bloom!