Only a smell had feelings to make known,
Only an eye could point in a direction,
The fountain's utterance was itself alone:
He, though, by naming thought to make connection

Between himself as hunter and his food;
He felt the interest in his throat and found
That he could send a servant to chop wood
Or kiss a girl to rapture with a sound.

They bred like locusts till they hid the green
And edges of the world: confused and abject,
A creature to his own creation subject,

He shook with hate for things he'd never seen,
Pined for a love abstracted from its object,
And was opressed as he had never been.