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He went his weary wand’ring way alone,

The days and nights were no one’s but his own.

Is he now happy?  Is he now content?

For this did he from others circumvent?



Perhaps he did but tarry on his way,

Alone for just some nights and not them all;

Tomorrow or some other day he’d stay

With fellow trav’lers in some township’s wall.



They’d linger in some tavern or some house,

Talk avidly at points and then carouse;

And then mayhap that wand’rer will exclaim

Some melancholy air for which they’ll blame



The loss of evening reverie.  Alas,

The truthful path has fallen in disuse

And opaque honor now becomes as glass;

The archaic survivor takes abuse.



So now he walks alone far from all this,

‘midst dark abysses and tall sapling stalks.



* * *

What does the wand’rer do without a home?

What else is there, except to freely roam?

He does just that and will not hold a grudge

Against those men who heard and did not budge.



He said, ‘The lives of men do quickly end,

And all this talk of endless life is naught

But foolery: stars turn, time does not bend,

So do not seek to buy what can’t be bought.’



He saw the learned denial in their eyes,

Their folly, and let forth the sigh of sighs;

An empty gesture at their loss of art

That did not help his case or calm his heart.



Their anger brought a punishment to him,

To make him exiled from their company;

A blameless man assented to their whim,

And took his leave amid dumb shouts of glee.



He is but sad at their fell ignorance,

The loss in sense with every single lad.