Elinor Morton Wylie
Cold-Blooded Creatures - Poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Man, the egregious egoist
(In mystery the twig is bent)
Imagines, by some mental twist,
That he alone is sentient
Of the intolerable load
That on all living creatures lies,
Nor stoops to pity in the toad
The speechless sorrow of his eyes.
He asks no questions of the snake,
Nor plumbs the phosphorescent gloom
Where lidless fishes, broad awake,
Swim staring at a nightmare doom.
Comments about Cold-Blooded Creatures by Elinor Morton Wylie
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.