Silence and Solitude may hint
  (Whose home is in yon piny wood)
What I, though tableted, could never tell—
The din which here befell,
  And striving of the multitude.
The iron cones and spheres of death
  Set round me in their rust,—
    These, too, if just,
Shall speak with more than animated breath.
  Thou who beholdest...