And struck his finger on the place,
And said: Thou ailest here, and here!
He looked on Europe's dying hour
Of fitful dream and feverish power;
His eye plunged down the weltering strife,
The turmoil of expiring life--He
said, The end is everywhere,
Art still has truth, take refuge there!
And he was happy, if to know
Causes of things, and far below