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The Blind
The Second Nature
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My soul, survey them, dreadful as they seem.
Like marionettes, ridiculous they stare.
Strange as somnambulists that, in their dream,
Dart shadowy orbs around we know not where.
Their eyes, from which the
heavenly spark has flown
Remain uplifted, as in distant quest,
Skyward: but never on the paving stone
Do they pore dreamingly or come to rest.
They traverse thus the illimitable Dark,
Twin of eternal Silence. While the City
May sing around us, bellow, laugh, or bark
In love with pleasure to the point of cruelty.
See! I drag along also! but, more dazed than they,
I say: "What do they seek in Heaven,
all those blind?"
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