If you have noticed the rolling jowls And the face that speaks its chief Delight in beer and roast beef Before you have seen his eyes, you see A man of fleshly jollity, Like the friars of old in gowns and cowls To make a show of scowls. And when he speaks from an orotund depth that growls In a humorous way like Fielding or Smollett That turns in a trice to Robert La Follette Or retraces to Thales of Crete, And touches upon Descartes coming back Through the intellectual Zodiac That's something of a feat. And you see that the eyes are really the man, For the thought of him proliferates This way over to Hindostan, And that way descanting on Yeats. With a word on Plato's symposium, And a little glimpse of Theocritus, Or something of Bruno's martyrdom, Or what St. Thomas Aquinas meant By a certain line obscure to us. And then he'll take up Horace's odes Or the Roman civilization; Or a few of the Iliad's episodes, Or the Greek deterioration. Or skip to a word on the plasmic jelly, Which Benjamin Moore and others think Is the origin of life. Then Shelley Comes in a for a look of understanding. Or he'll tell you about the orientation Of the ancient dream of Zion. Or what's the matter with Bryan. And while the porter is bringing a drink Something into his fancy skips And he talks about the Apocalypse, Or a painter or writer now unknown In France or Germany who will soon Have fame of him through the whole earth blown. It's not so hard a thing to be wise In the lore of books. It's a different thing to be all eyes, Like a lighthouse which revolves and looks Over the land and out to sea: And a lighthouse is what he seems to me! Sitting like Buddha spiritually cool, Young as the light of the sun is young, And taking the even with the odd As a matter of course, and the path he's trod As a path that was good enough. With a sort of transcendental sense Whose hatred is less than indifference, And a gift of wisdom in love. And who can say as he classifies Men and ages with his eyes With cool detachment: this is dung, And that poor fellow is just a fool. And say what you will death is a rod. But I see a light that shines and shines And I rather think it's God. A STUDY If your thoughts were as clear as your eyes, And the whole of your heart were true, You were fitter by far for winning-- But then that would not be you. If your pulse beat time to love As fast as you think and plan, You could kindle a lasting passion In the breast of the strongest man. If you felt as much as you thought, And dreamed what you seem to dream, A world of elysian beauty Your ruined heart would redeem. If you thought in the light of the sun, Or the blood in your veins flowed free, If you gave your kisses but gladly, We two could better agree.