Here the mind isn't free...
Very so dies the ambition of a great poet.
Here the rights of Freedom are in shackles...
Prisoning thus, the idea of that brave stout soldier.
Neither is Love here, nor is Hate impure...
Stale lies the confused audience of the people.
Death dances to multi-tunes...
Life writes for itself an impressive elegy.
What God can we all claim...
When we are in our deep hearts, little Satans.
No comments:
Post a Comment