Were ever that false hope to bloom some hundred year!
I should have known it for the creaking soot she was.
And I am cracked, like clay too hot was fired!
In the hands of children, tossed to pieces on the ground.
Honey stirs the stomach well, but conquers veins their course!
So fed my soul up-down and backwards with a sweeter psalm.
None too several sons of gods like me made haste to be thy all!
Though what I’ve known hath shook the earth, and made my grave the deeper.
I will not to a person pray somewhere beyond my here, you listen!
Save me the god that knows not footsteps, nor a smile.
I curse the day that always be my way:
I cannot live outside the life that ebbs and dies.
Not words their spirit satisfy!
Nor songs of psalms we sing.
I hate a thousand hymns:
Though thousand splendid be.
To solve in silence!
The want of all I see.