Through Fields Of Ash, Burnt, Without Verdure, Where I Was Complaining One Day To Nature, And Slowly Sharpened The Knife Of My Thought, As I Wandered Aimlessly, Against My Heart, I Saw Descend, At Noon, On My Brow, A Storm-Filled And A Sinister Cloud, Holding A Vicious Demonic Horde, Resembling Cruel, And Curious Dwarfs. They Gazing At Me, Considering Me, As Cool As Passers-By Admiring A Fool, I Heard Them Laughing And Whispering In Synch, Exchanging Many A Nudge And A Wink: ' Let'S Contemplate This Caricature, This Hamlet'S Shadow, Echoing His Posture, His Indecisive Looks, And Wild Hair. It's A Shame To See That Epicure There, That Pauper, That Actor On Holiday, That Droll Fellow, Because He Can Play A Fine Role, Trying To Interest With His Tears The Eagles, The Grasshoppers, Streams And Flowers, And Even Proclaiming His Public Tirades To Us Who Invented Those Ancient Parades?' I Might (Since My Pride, High As The Mountains, Overtops Clouds And The Cries Of Demons) Simply Have Turned My Regal Head, If I'd Not Seen, To That Obscene Crowd Wed, A Crime That Failed To Make The Sun Rock, The Queen Of My Heart, With Her Matchless Look, Laughing With Them At My Dark Distress, And Now And Then Yielding A Filthy Caress.