Tell me not to rise again,
Yonder slumbering magic hands of futility
Have lulled me to rest in suave peace’s grave
And are inviting drowsiness enough to blink.
Thanks thou merchant of senselessness
Trades countless pains in forlorn heart
Till mine self turns to stone
Growing tall, that spoils any second coming.
O sleep, unshaken before any guts,
Lending another name of death
Showcasing thy glorious epitaphs
On moldering heaps of innumerable domes,
Where air of knowledge never blows
Or the celestial light ever glows.
Let these citizens of bygone years
Be comrades in my arms at this ancient place.
No letters of substance ever rouse them,
No treading passion for unknown
Ever exasperated their pitiful hearts,
Never glanced beyond their daily wants,
Shut hapless stars of fate on lives limited spoils
Before putting out all gleams of hope.
Now these meaningless souls are guarding me
From any meaningful goal. Ah! how happy I am.