Classic Poem

You small people who creep inside are snails
With only a vanity to protect you
Elephants move boldly
And do not touch you nor you them
When an elephant pauses
You come out in his shadow
. . . . .
It has come to this:
I would be alone
For people are too much in my veins
For their love to flatter me
I would be noticed in some new way
That is neither love nor hate nor fear
They sit about little
They who go into the hills to be alone
Because they dare not be alone in public places
They sit about too much with sharp eyes
For greatness not for what is great
And they all are a fever in my blood
My flesh is in for a great cooling
My eyes to be black death
In a face like polished stone.