AT first awhile sits he,
With calm, unruffled brow;
His features then I see,
Distorted hideously,
An owl's they might be now.
What is it, askest thou?
Is't love, or is't ennui?
'Tis both at once, I vow.
The Misanthrope.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Suggested Poems
Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.