Classic Poem

Think not, O soul,
That food doth control
That time when thou art
In search of truth!

I'm a dried-out human being!
And dried-out, dried-in from all that I've seen—
And poor as a devil should be!
But ne'er discouraged from thee!

Have I another word to say,
Ye demons, for human beings?
Nor still encrouch the liver cell
To those who live in dreams.

I live in an age where the age lives alone,
And lonesome doth it rage
Where the bard dare not come.

The end cannot be
Through the far, listless clouds;
All human hand stretched to agree
Should land beneath its sepulchral shrouds.