So huge a burden to support,
Your courage, Sisyphus, would ask;
Well though my heart attacks its task,
Yet Art is long and Time is short.Far from the famed memorial arch
Towards a lonely grave I come.
My heart in its funeral march
Goes beating like a muffled drum.
— Yet many a gem lies hidden still
Of whom no pick-axe, spade, or drill
The lonely secrecy invades;
And many a flower, to heal regret,
Pours forth its fragrant secret yet
Amidst the solitary shades.
