--one, all eyes,
Philosopher!
Philosopher!
William Wordsworth
]
* * * * *
A POET'S EPITAPH
Composed 1799. --Published 1800
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection. "--Ed.
Art thou a Statist [1] in the van
Of public conflicts [2] trained and bred?
--First learn to love one living man;
_Then_ may'st thou think upon the dead.
A Lawyer art thou? --draw not nigh! 5
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face. [3]
Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
A rosy Man, right plump to see? 10
Approach; yet, Doctor, [A] not too near,
This grave no cushion is for thee.
Or art thou one of gallant pride, [4]
A Soldier and no man of chaff?
Welcome! --but lay thy sword aside, 15
And lean upon a peasant's staff.
Physician art thou?
--one, all eyes,
Philosopher! --a fingering slave,
One that would peep and botanize
Upon his mother's grave? 20
Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece,
O turn aside,--and take, I pray,
That he below may rest in peace,
Thy ever-dwindling soul, away! [5]
A Moralist perchance appears; 25
Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod:
And he has neither eyes nor ears;
Himself his world, and his own God;
One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling
Nor form, nor feeling, great or [6] small; 30
A reasoning, self-sufficing [7] thing,
An intellectual All-in-all!
Shut close the door; press down the latch;
Sleep in thy intellectual crust;
Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch 35
Near this unprofitable dust.
But who is He, with modest looks,
And clad in homely russet brown? [B]
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own. 40
He is retired as noontide dew,
Or fountain in a noon-day grove;
And you must love him, ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love.
The outward shows of sky and earth, 45
Of hill and valley, he has viewed;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him in solitude.
In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,--50
The harvest of a quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Hath been an idler in the land;
Contented if he might enjoy 55
The things which others understand.
--Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length;
Or build thy house upon this grave. 60
See the Fenwick note to the poem, 'Written in Germany, on one of the
coldest Days of the Century' (p. 73).
* * * * *
A POET'S EPITAPH
Composed 1799. --Published 1800
One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection. "--Ed.
Art thou a Statist [1] in the van
Of public conflicts [2] trained and bred?
--First learn to love one living man;
_Then_ may'st thou think upon the dead.
A Lawyer art thou? --draw not nigh! 5
Go, carry to some fitter place
The keenness of that practised eye,
The hardness of that sallow face. [3]
Art thou a Man of purple cheer?
A rosy Man, right plump to see? 10
Approach; yet, Doctor, [A] not too near,
This grave no cushion is for thee.
Or art thou one of gallant pride, [4]
A Soldier and no man of chaff?
Welcome! --but lay thy sword aside, 15
And lean upon a peasant's staff.
Physician art thou?
--one, all eyes,
Philosopher! --a fingering slave,
One that would peep and botanize
Upon his mother's grave? 20
Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece,
O turn aside,--and take, I pray,
That he below may rest in peace,
Thy ever-dwindling soul, away! [5]
A Moralist perchance appears; 25
Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod:
And he has neither eyes nor ears;
Himself his world, and his own God;
One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling
Nor form, nor feeling, great or [6] small; 30
A reasoning, self-sufficing [7] thing,
An intellectual All-in-all!
Shut close the door; press down the latch;
Sleep in thy intellectual crust;
Nor lose ten tickings of thy watch 35
Near this unprofitable dust.
But who is He, with modest looks,
And clad in homely russet brown? [B]
He murmurs near the running brooks
A music sweeter than their own. 40
He is retired as noontide dew,
Or fountain in a noon-day grove;
And you must love him, ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love.
The outward shows of sky and earth, 45
Of hill and valley, he has viewed;
And impulses of deeper birth
Have come to him in solitude.
In common things that round us lie
Some random truths he can impart,--50
The harvest of a quiet eye
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
Hath been an idler in the land;
Contented if he might enjoy 55
The things which others understand.
--Come hither in thy hour of strength;
Come, weak as is a breaking wave!
Here stretch thy body at full length;
Or build thy house upon this grave. 60
See the Fenwick note to the poem, 'Written in Germany, on one of the
coldest Days of the Century' (p. 73).
