That mark'd insanity called by men art--
Perversely carved with no feel in nature
That impossible bird--drawn pink-feathered
By Man exiled, dull of gleeful hunt-hearts
Feeling coldness in them, and lusts for more
With a desperate soul that clings to stars
When the world acts calm, and only he fears
The world's hollow joy, and despairs apart.
Now the bare old trees be set on fire!
And love be forged higher than still ground's ease!
So Man chases chaos of art and crown!
The stars beyond the Earth pain him with thirst
To flee from that imprisoned role of beasts
And detach him coldly, yearning alone.
