My boy, Song is a Tomb:
If you persist in building it you will
soon find yourself half-buried in its midst
thinking it noon
Do you really believe
the Song you carve is from Imagination's lays?
Why, while you nourish it th'worlds will starve
for as you make it Form decays:
The Greatest Song is made
out of the breath that passes from the lips of Death.
The Greatest Verse comes from the art poets pluck
out of their very hearts!
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