When the many move, the man in the cubicle of content cowers, suddenly discovered, suddenly rent by the reality of crowds. He has trained the climbing vine, written "roses" on his ledger, lived like a saint and finds himself a leper. Immaculate of belief and violent on Mondays, thinking no evil and thanking no second party he has leaned in the evenings on the low-lipped window and learned of his saintliness from outlines of lovers. Now lovers leap the sash and the many winnow his penny bank of wisdom and set it swirling down the unclogged drain in the hidden scullery. People take sudden shape and are suddenly human, smash walls, uproot chairs and juggle cutlery while he sits with gloved hands in a buttoned confusion. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SELF-SEEKER by ROBERT FROST CHURCHILL'S GRAVE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 94. AL-HADI by EDWIN ARNOLD OLD HOMES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 36 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |