“Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I hearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto the goatherds.

“Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.

“And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me too. There is ice in their laughter.”