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Christopher Brennan - "You, at whose table I have sat, some distant eve . ."
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You, at whose table I have sat, some distant eve 
 beside the road, and eaten and you pitied me 
 to be driven an aimless way before the pitiless winds, 
 how much ye have given and knew not, pitying foolishly! 
 For not alone the bread I broke, but I tasted too 
 all your unwitting lives and knew the narrow soul 
 that bodies it in the landmarks of your fields, 
 and broods dumbly within your little seasons` round, 
 where, after sowing, comes the short-lived summer`s mirth, 
 and, after harvesting, the winter`s lingering dream, 
 half memory and regret, half hope, crouching beside 
 the hearth that is your only centre of life and dream. 
 And knowing the world how limitless and the way how long, 
 and the home of man how feeble and builded on the winds, 
 I have lived your life, that eve, as you might never live 
 knowing, and pity you, if you should come to know.
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