Misanthropy
“But I am no King's-man, Paul; I am amazed
We sovereignties should let them rule and range.
In the mother-house I dwelt severe and strange,
With cries was torn from my quiet cavern, ill-pleased;
A Form whose fixity everywhere is teased
With change—am enamored yet of that dark womb,
Devise no analogue but one—the tomb,
Where Kings are put to sleep and kingdoms razed.
“My compliments to your King. Say I'm not in.
I'll to your topmost Northern tower, a misanthrope
Too firm to wheedle a fat King or lean Pope,
And all the Pope's prayers and all the King's power
Shall not seduce me out of my grim grey tower;
But you have delicate skin, so save your skin.”
We sovereignties should let them rule and range.
In the mother-house I dwelt severe and strange,
With cries was torn from my quiet cavern, ill-pleased;
A Form whose fixity everywhere is teased
With change—am enamored yet of that dark womb,
Devise no analogue but one—the tomb,
Where Kings are put to sleep and kingdoms razed.
“My compliments to your King. Say I'm not in.
I'll to your topmost Northern tower, a misanthrope
Too firm to wheedle a fat King or lean Pope,
And all the Pope's prayers and all the King's power
Shall not seduce me out of my grim grey tower;
But you have delicate skin, so save your skin.”
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