I knew a man, whose heart could find no home,
Whose very fulness but provoked his dearth;
He was too proud to show how he could moan,
Most thought him cold, few understood his worth;
But closeted feelings bring forth bitter fruit;
And solitude preys on love, making it mad;
Hearts throb more genial, even to a worthless suit,
Than when experience answers, all is sad:
He hath grasp’d sometimes at the empty air,
Parcelling it out to visions of his mind;
Deifying some idea, he’s call’d it fair;
Alas! he could not long continue blind:
Who’s separate from his fellows may live great;
Yet fate decrees he’ll curse his empty state.