It needed not her calm reply: She fixed him with a stony eye, And he could neither fight nor fly. While she dissected, word by word, His speech, half guessed at and half heard, As might a cat a little bird. Then, having wholly overthrown His views, and stripped them to the bone, Proceeded to unfold her own. "Shall Man be Man? And shall he miss Of other thoughts no thought but this, Harmonious dews of sober bliss? "What boots it? Shall his fevered eye Through towering nothingness descry The grisly phantom hurry by? "And hear dumb shrieks that fill the air; See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare And redden in the dusky glare? "The meadows breathing amber light, The darkness toppling from the height, The feathery train of granite Night? "Shall he, grown gray among his peers, Through the thick curtain of his tears Catch glimpses of his earlier years, "And hear the sounds he knew of yore, Old shufflings on the sanded floor, Old knuckles tapping at the door? "Yet still before him as he flies One pallid form shall ever rise, And, bodying forth in glassy eyes "The vision of a vanished good, Low peering through the tangled wood, Shall freeze the current of his blood." Still from each fact, with skill uncouth And savage rapture, like a tooth She wrenched some slow reluctant truth. Till, like a silent water-mill,