Page:The Soul of a Century.djvu/140



Look! All the lights aglow, and yet you cannot fathom His soul§s true worth A shadow cast over the ages And he, who cast the shadow, no longer can be seen.

He ruled the world, himself a lonely beggar Surfeit with flatteries, through which he clearly saw. Detesting mankind, self as well detesting, He slew his soul, deprived of life’s Few pleasures by his fellow beings. He destroyed his soul, that he might further live, Wanting to live, that he might ridicule The undernourished life of starving souls.

And then he died, like a flickering feeble taper Whose flame was lit at night, but threw no light. The barking dogs who used to lick his footsteps With frothing mouths, attacked his memory, In dog-like manner, tearing it and yelping. Plebian brains called upon their inner lights, That they might better gauge and measure him According to the scales of scheming merchants.

And Tacitus who tried to paint on canvas The picture of his battered, murdered soul, Was so engrossed by the fervor of his painting, That only the image, not the soul, lives on.

Lights all aglow and he is still in darkness. A mystery a riddle  a shadow cast over the ages, And he, who cast the shadow, no longer can be seen.

All is quiet now They left  and here he lies In his own blood that cooled and set in clogs, The blood that ran, and blends as into one With the purplish rags outstretched beneath his head. How still he lies, appearing as if dreaming, A bluish light still glistens beneath the lashes As of one who partly sheathes his eyes while thinking Of some verse or rhyme he plans to write. My Lord or may I just say “Nero.” Or “Lover”, I your Akte from Attalea?