Ye who have eyes to see and lips to press?
IX.
Why, for a wisdom that ye will not prove,
A joy that crushes and a love that stings,
A freak, a frenzy in a fated groove,
A thing of nothing born of less than nought—
Why in your hearts do ye desire these things,
Ye who abhor the joys that ye have sought?
X.
See, see! I weep, but I can jest at times;