THE SAVAGE

By Christopher Morley

Civilization causes me

Alternate fits: disgust and glee.

Buried in piles of glass and stone

My private spirit moves alone,

Where every day from eight to six

I keep alive by hasty tricks.

But I am simple in my soul;

My mind is sullen to control.

At dusk I smell the scent of earth,

And I am dumb — too glad for mirth.

I know the savors night can give,

And then, and then, I live, I live!

No man is wholly pure and free,

For that is not his destiny,

But though I bend, I will not break:

And still be savage, for Truth's sake.

God damns the easily convinced

( Like Pilate, when his hands he rinsed ).