Their noses are assailed with smells,
Their ears are beat upon by bells,
They see the outward coverings
And watch the surfaces of things,
And relish to a slight degree
The savory and unsavory
And knock their knuckles lightly on
A door or two, and then are gone.
Explore a clue or think it through —
They find it too fatiguing to.
Their yearnings all in yawnings end
Who never to one fact extend
The simple courtesy of wonder,
That rends more reverently asunder
The lips, and makes the mouth let go
A less unpleasant “Ah!” and “Oh!”
If Beauty be but bubble-fair,
A breath of soap-surrounded air
That bounces briefly like a ball
And makes a moisture on a wall,
Then must we leave them to their senses
And save our own intelligences.
Though Christ Himself be whelmed in wheat,
They could not taste, so would not eat.
— From Boundaries
