THE ACURSED POET

THE ACCURSED POET

Here the accursed poet lies,

Hid far from the pure blue skies;

Mixed with mud filth he lies

At the bottom of the stream.

He dreamed many a strange dream.

He loved mankind but he did nought

For mankind's good. Vain was his thought.

He would be loved and he was not.

The sun in morn or evening glow

Can reach him not where deep he lies

With mud and filth far from the skies.

He ached to feel, he ached to know.

He did aspire to what should last

Beyond the time that did it show.

Full of the giant city's waste

The river over him doth flow.

Dark over him flows the river.

Down to him no light can go.

      Damn'd be he for ever!