The Morbid Misanthrope
Mark the morbid misanthrope!
His spectre nigh the town,
Roving on the grassy slope,
His blackly flowing gown.
Spy the sordid misanthrope!
Bereft of goodly cheer,
Solitude his changeless trope—
Comportment so austere.
There the lonely misanthrope!
In weeks and months alone,
Off in silence there to mope,
And mutterings intone.
Fie — the damned misanthrope!
Aloof in private hate,
Thinking everyone a dope,
He won’t communicate.
Curse the awful misanthrope!
The ghost of sore renown,
Choose thy foreign hell to cope,
With wry, vexatious frown…
adamdaniel 