POETS forgotten! Unknown poets! Ye
Beyond the reach of glory! Still I must
Go seeking you along the desolate quay,
And on old bookshelves mouldering in dust.

And am rewarded when I find some great,
Beautiful verse full of a rich heart's blood,
And feel in pride that I am making good,
In spite of gods, the injury of Fate.

O roses faded in the weary years,
O laurels languishing resigned to die,
How many times, under my lamp, my tears
Have made you bloom as in the days gone by!

translated by Jethro Bithell