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Poem	You Eyes, you large and all-inquiring Eyes. That look so dubiously into me, And are not satisfied with what you see, Tell me the worst and let us have no lies: Tell me the meaning of your scrutinies. And of myself. Am I a Mystery? Am I a Boojum--or just Company? What do you say? What do you think, You Eyes? You say not; but you think, without a doubt; And you have the whole world to think about, With very little time for little things. So let it be; and let it all be fair-- For you, and for the rest who cannot share Your gold of unrevealed awakenings.
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