"They do not understand me: I am not the mouth for these ears.
Perhaps I have lived too long in the mountains; I have hearkened too much to the brooks and trees: now I speak to them as to the goatherds.
My soul is calm and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they think I am cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
Now they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me too. There is ice in their laughter."
Thanks for the tip, good readin.
