H. P. Lovecraft

Brotherhood (1916–17)

The National Magazine, Vol XLV, Oct 1916 to Mar 1917, pg 415

In prideful scorn I watched the farmer stride
With step uncouth o’er road and mossy lane;
How could I help but distantly deride
The churlish, calloused, coarse-clad country swain?

Upon his lips a mumbled ballad stirred
The evening air with dull cacophony;
In cold contempt, I shuddered as I heard,
And held myself no kin to such as he.

But as he leaped the stile and gained the field
Where star-faced blossoms twinkled through the hay,
His lumb’ring footfalls oftentimes would yield,
To spare the flowers that bloomed along the way.

And while I gazed, my spirit swelled apace;
With the crude swain I owned the human tie;
The tenderest impulse of a noble race
Had proved the boor a finer man than I!