Jones Very (1813–1880)

EACH care-worn face is but a book

To tell of houses bought or sold;

Or filled with words that men have took

From those who lived and spoke of old.

I see none whom I know, for they

See other things than him they meet;

And though they stop me by the way,

’Tis still some other one to greet.

There are no words that reach my ear;

Those speak who tell of other things

Than what they mean for me to hear,

For in their speech the counter rings.

I would be where each word is true,

Each eye sees what it looks upon;

For here my eye has seen but few

Who in each act that act have done.