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Harriet Monroe - The Mockery
Work rating: Low

Sometimes I laugh—what else can a man do 
Who does not know ? This little ego here 
Braving the void, this fleck upon the blue, 
This filmy wing sounding the starry sphere— 
What bold abysmal incongruity, 
What joke of the gods to make a mock of me ! 

I hear you sing, and wonder how you dare. 
Too fine for song they are—the tint of the rose, 
The touch of a child, love`s beauty and despair, 
All the sad furtive exquisiteness that blows, 
Like scent of gardens I may never see, 
Across my sense to make a mock of me. 

That I, this atom infinitesimal, 
This chance-blown seed of flesh and fire, that I 
Should front the dread immensity, the all, 
Shocking the silence with my futile cry— 
What dark inscrutable absurdity, 
What joke of the gods to make a mock of me!
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