There are those there enfaced with vulgar fear
Not caring of thine own injustice proved
Each thrust of might castoff for whom they hear
And grieving whence that pleasure much removed
Falsehood afoot floating upon thin air
Where gusts rage henceforth mired in destruction
Holding firmly in thy displeasure dare
And even thence beg hallowed unction
Thou, in utmost wariness, mine own woe
Such discomfort lock’d up in deep recess
Loudly with unrequited passion crow
Noting all wrong grown in thine consciousness
That grief and pain art void of happiness
Art born in thy ultimate thoughtlessness.