Within a corner of this windowed room <br />He sits, and seldom speaks, and seldom <br />moves. <br />Forever left within eternal gloom, <br />He thinks of those he left, and those he loves. <br />The clouds were his, the colours of the day, <br />The purple mists, the deepest shades of blue, <br />The yellow flames, the stars, the milky way, <br />And smiles and frowns, and stretching moon- <br />light too. <br />He knew the sun upon the eastern sea, <br />And watched it set behind a western hill. <br />He saw the depth of waters, - space, - the free <br />Ascent of birds. All these he knew until <br />The bursting shell. And now, as life is long, <br />He sits alone, and whistles some old song.<br /><br />Leon Gellert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blind-man-8/
