Silence enfolds,
In her soothing arms.
How well I know her charms.

I abhore
The crowd’s inane roar
Where those who shout loudest are too often heard
And the liar’s honeyed word
Is sweet
In the ears of those who long to eat.

The crowd will crucify
Those who are found to lie.
But tis a truth most drear
That tis the lie they long to hear.

The multitude hate
The silence for it makes them think,
So turn to drink
And prate
Of matters they only half comprehend.

I shall defend
The freedom of silence
Against the violence
Of the crowd who sway
First this way
Then that.
I shall stand aloof
From the man in the bowler hat
(and he who wears the cloth cap),
And hap
I shall find truth
For the crowd’s roar
Can not penetrate my front door.


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