  We were gay fellows, all of us, And christened him “the Monk.” He sat among us silently, His wine was never drunk. He heard the music passionate, But did not join the dance, Unmoved, he saw white arms and throats, Unloving, caught Love’s glance. I asked him why he cared to live, “Because,” responded he,— “I like to watch these pictures Of the things inside of me.” |
|
