I once was lifted on a bitter moon,
And tossed into the ranges around noon.
Looking about me I caught sight of two
Sad rustics, who within these pastures grew.
I counted them, and found that they were twain.
Men stopped them and then parked them in the rain.
Believe it or not, I was sorry for those men,
Indeed I was: I loathed their regimen.
I went up to them. " Brothers," I said, " I'm here
Like you napoo?" I inspired them with some fear.
Seeing that, I raised my hat. I left them alone.
As I withdrew I heard a double groan,
From the four lungs of the two chests — but 'twas a natural thing!
What song that they had ever sung could they unsing?
— I am the man thus brought in contact with
Misery, to see it, and make of it a myth.
No hollow man, a tin pulse in his wrist —
I have always thought it better to resist
From childhood up, and have done with every fear.
About nothing am I absolutely clear.