The lyrical form is in fact the simplest verbal vesture of an instant of emotion a rhythmical cry such as ages ago cheered on the man who pulled at the oar or dragged stones up a slope. In a dream he rose and saw that it was morning. I also know the people of the world. "What DID you do, you naughty, bad thing? Why in the world, to worry us so--and take our thoughts off, too, don't you know?-- did you desert us at the very door?" I couldn't meet such questions nor, as they asked them, their false little lovely eyes; yet it was all so exactly what I should have to meet that, as the prospect grew sharp to me, I at last let myself go.