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It features a presumably mild-mannered fellow in a polo shirt who spots the “Man Signal” and barrels into a phone booth to emerge as a fedora-masked Not-All-Man, “defender of the defended” and “voice for the voiceful.”

I would not, however, on this account pronounce it to be the one silent member of a voiceful family, as my acquaintance with it is so very slight.

Beneath the tall pine's voiceful shadow I lie and drink thy jargoning; My soul is full with melodies, One drop would overflow it, And send the tears into mine eyes— But what car'st thou to know it?

In classic beauty, cold, immaculate, A voiceful sculpture, stern and still she stands, Upon her brow deep chiseled love and hate, That sorrow o'er dead roses in her hands.

When wand'ring 'neath the sighing trees, His soul waxed genial with the breeze, That, voiceful, from the piney glades Companioned seemed of Oreads; A Dryad life lived in each oak, And with its many leaf-tongues spoke, Glorying the deity whose power Gave it its life in sun and shower.