He spread his pallid, heavy wings
And flew to find the deathless stains,
The wounds that come with wanderings.
He will never dream again, but the demons dream of wandering and singing, and doing all things just as he did in his day.
He chose the solemn paths of Hell,
He sang for that dumb land too well,
Defying their disdain
Till he was cursed and slain.
Ah—he shall never dream again—
Mourn, for he shall not dream again—