I sit among the hoary trees
With Aristotle on my knees
And turn with serious hand the pages,
Lost in the cobweb-hush of ages;
When suddenly with no more sound
Than any sunbeam on the ground,
The little hermit of the place
Is peering up into my face—
The slim gray hermit of the rocks,
With bright, inquisitive, quick eyes,
His life a round of harks and shocks,
A little ripple of surprise.
Now lifted up, intense and still,
Sprung from the silence of the hill
He hangs upon the ledge a-glisten.
And his whole body seems to listen!
My pages give a little start,
And he is gone! to be a part
Of the old cedar's crumpled bark.
A mottled scar, a weather mark!
Edwin Markham's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Lizard by Edwin Markham )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Christmas Trees, Robert Frost
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Death is Nothing at All, Henry Scott Holland
- Angel Feather, The Mowjo