dedalus Posted July 19, 2013 Share Posted July 19, 2013 There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, There are seven columns, massy and grey, Dim with a dull imprison'd ray, A sunbeam which hath lost its way, I hear the echoes of your rhyme through the prism of broken time, direct and urgent, the words condign, sharp and clear in their design. In your day you were all the rage, a prisoner in a gilded cage; sultry, arrogant, perhaps confused, whispered about and roundly abused. The first pop star, but very alone, with surging heart and glance of stone, your verse still reads quite pure and well, but private life just went to hell. They chain'd us each to a column stone, And we were three—yet, each alone; We could not move a single pace, We could not see each other's face, But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight: The girls, the ladies, the sneer and flout, were not what you were really about; that damned club foot was another thing. the pain and anger that made you sing. It's very hard to be who you are, when nobody else is really a star; you tried, I know, with other rhymers, but turned away from social climbers. Your death was good, fighting for Greece, it was time to find quick final release: romantic poets should die when young, romantic heroes should always die young. Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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