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Poem by Elinor Wylie


Cold-Blooded Creatures


Man, the egregious egoist
(In mystery the twig is bent)
Imagines, by some mental twist,
That he alone is sentient

Of the intolerable load
That on all living creatures lies,
Nor stoops to pity in the toad
The speechless sorrow of his eyes.

He asks no questions of the snake,
Nor plumbs the phosphorescent gloom
Where lidless fishes, broad awake,
Swim staring at a nightmare doom.



Elinor Wylie


Elinor Wylie's other poems:
  1. MadmanТs Song
  2. Primavera in the North
  3. Curious Circumstance
  4. The Lost Path
  5. Venetian Interior


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