But Psyche Uplifting Her Finger Said: Sadly

The Fever Called "living" Is Conquer'd At Last.

Art Is To Look At Not To Criticize.

I Am Walking Like A Bewitched Corpse, With The Certainty Of Being Eaten By The Infinite, Of Being Annulled By The Only Existing Absurd.

Alas! For That Accursed Time They Bore Thee O'er The Billow, From Love To Titled Age And Crime, And An Unholy Pillow! From Me, And From Our Misty Clime, Where Weeps The Silver Willow!

Mournful And Never-ending Remembrance.