The bitching of a nigga on the beach,
Hot chicks ’n rap ‘n all that stuff,
And easy joys worth penny each –
But where is Sorrow of the Love?!
Yet…The bitching of a nigga on the beach,
Hot chicks ’n rap ‘n all that stuff,
And easy joys worth penny each –
But where is Sorrow of the Love?!
Yet somewhere lonesome garden grows,
Whose keeper’s doomed to mourn and dread,
Till blooms one more harmonious rose
On Beauty’s spectral flowerbed;
Here waves of astray rhymes arrive
And march in vast arrays.
Revived amidst oblivion’s mist, arise
Tall figures of the olden days:
Great Isis, deep in tears, enshrines
Near Nile her husband’s fourteenth part;
Till dead of night Penelope defines
And weaves her righteous lying art.
Sigrun runs towards burial mound,
Despite her Helgi’s deadly cold,
While Yaroslavna’s crying sound
Is loudly heard all ‘round the world!
In silence lies the solemn beach,
And not a soul has heard or seen,
That fiery madman held a speech
«What Love and Sorrow used to mean».
