The Enigma

In arrant non-chalance he wends,
and all profess to comprehend
the man whose life, it looks to him,
is not an edict but a whim.

Abreast of all, all are possessed
of him who leads, not as the rest,
his life before him—not behind—
submitting ever to his mind
exquisite pangs of pleasure, pain;

He, mockery of the world, would fain
have cried in sun and laughed in rain.