  The rabbit in his burrow keeps No guarded watch, in peace he sleeps; The wolf that howls into the night Cowers to her lair at morning light; The simplest bird entwines a nest Where she may lean her lovely breast, Couched in the silence of the bough; But thou, O man, what rest hast thou? The deepest solitude can bring Only a subtler questioning In thy divided heart; thy bed Recalls at dawn what midnight said; Seek how thou wilt to feign content Thy flaming ardour's quickly spent; Soon thy last company is gone, And leaves thee—with thyself—alone. Pomp and great friends may hem thee round, A thousand busy tasks be found; Thy longing lovesick heart awhile; And pride, like clouds of sunset, spread A changing glory round thy head; But fade will all; and thou must come, Hating thy journey, homeless, home. Rave how thou wilt; unmoved, remote, That inward presence slumbers not, Frets out each secret from thy breast, Gives thee no rally, pause, nor rest, Scans close thy very thoughts, lest they Should sap his patient power away, Answers thy wrath with peace, thy cry With tenderest taciturnity. |
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