(who called a contemplative man dead)
You snigger at him, a walking corpse that gropes
For 'barren leaves' on learning's desert slopes.
Yet never to art (or life) you gave your praise,
Nor risked a fall, all your efficient days.
That man with inward eyes and laggard tongue
Can sit tonight the living trees among,
While you from truth under boards are hid
And weary me, scratching on your coffin lid.
http://www.glenmurraypublishing.co.uk/hamishhendersonpoems.htm
