Ill-Starred

 To bear a weight that cannot be borne, 
Sisyphus, even you aren't that strong, 
Although your heart cannot be torn 
Time is short and Art is long.
 
Far from celebrated sepulchers 
Toward a solitary graveyard 
My heart, like a drum muffled hard 
Beats a funeral march for the ill-starred.
 

—Many jewels are buried or shrouded 
In darkness and oblivion's clouds, 
Far from any pick or drill bit, 

Many a flower unburdens with regret 
Its perfume sweet like a secret; 
In profoundly empty solitude to sit.

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