Image
travels of the sun
In
its seasoning silence
Of
the dejected muse
Art
Sorrow
Thy
lips in vain touch verse
A
star gone
A
blank airy course
Hung
for ages
With
tears
A
wet coat
With
strings of mighty sighs
And
red eyes
That
pull one backward
Here
another useless day
Will
return
Behold
so
soon from here another
to
think,
None
a poet
A
king
Glowing
of pages
We
the epic
Born
and died
In
suffering
Always
cheerful
A
man of original geniuses
At
ease in humor,
In
shirtless fall
Timely
appearance
The
benevolent wages
Paid
to brief passage
In
no sympathy with suffering
True
pathos of
the
serious imagination
worn
with December light
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