Shapes of Clay

To a hunter from the city,

Overtaken by the night,

Spake, in tones of tender pity

For himself, an aged wight:

"I have found the world a fountain

Of deceit and Life a sham.

I have taken to the mountain

And a Holy Hermit am.

"Sternly bent on Contemplation,

Far apart from human kind——

In the hill my habitation,

In the Infinite my mind.

"Ten long years I've lived a dumb thing,

Growing bald and bent with dole.

Vainly seeking for a Something

To engage my gloomy soul.

"Gentle Pilgrim, while my roots you

Eat, and quaff my simple drink,

Please suggest whatever suits you

As a Theme for me to Think."

Then the hunter answered gravely:

"From distraction free, and strife,

You could ponder very bravely

On the Vanity of Life."

"O, thou wise and learned Teacher,

You have solved the Problem well—

You have saved a grateful creature

From the agonies of hell.

"Take another root, another

Cup of water: eat and drink.

Now I have a Subject, brother,

Tell me What, and How, to think."