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!
