When, thrust in the popular face,
I fill the old street with alarms,
Looking down from this horrible place!
I’m out of humanity’s reach,
Stuck up here on the summit alone;
And as for the music of speech,
All I get is a hiss or a groan!
For no beast of the plain, old or new,
No brute from the depths of the sea,
No bird that you’ll find at the Zoo—