THE NATURALIST

The shouts of happy boys he does not hear,

Nor knows that wretched men must toil for bread;

The tragedy of life he has not read,

Or deems it but the comedy of fear:

He never lifts his eyes above the ground

To gaze upon the glittering world of stars;

The poet's richest music only mars

The rasping of the locust's strident sound.

And yet I've never seen a wilder light

Glow in the beauteous eyes of dawning love,

Than flashes from this strange man's soul at sight

Of some rare flower he finds in mountain cove:

Mere fungus, or the poisonous, dank mushroom,

Enchants him more than rich magnolia bloom!