  Here's an end to my art! I must die and I know it, With battle murder at my heart— Sad death for a poet! Oh my songs never sung, And my plays to darkness blown! I am still so young, so young, And life was my own. Some bad fairy stole The baby I nursed: Was this my pretty little soul, This changeling accursed? To fight and kill is wrong— To stay at home wronger: Oh soul, little play and song, I may father no longer! Here's an end to my art! I must die and I know it, With battle murder at my heart— Sad death for a poet! |
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