IV
“They Dub Thee Idler, Smiling Sneeringly”
They dub thee idler, smiling sneeringly,And why? because, forsooth, so many moons,Here dwelling voiceless by the voiceful sea,Thou hast not set thy thoughts to paltry tunesIn song or sonnet. Them these golden noonsOppress not with their beauty; they could prate,Even while a prophet read the solemn runesOn which is hanging some imperial fate.How know they, these good gossips, what to theeThe ocean and its wanderers may have brought?How know they, in their busy vacancy,With what far aim thy spirit may be fraught?Or that thou dost not bow thee silentlyBefore some great unutterable thought?