I am the Empire in the last of its decline,
That sees the tall, fair-haired Barbarians pass,—the while
Composing indolent acrostics, in a style
Of gold, with languid sunshine dancing in each line.
The solitary soul is heart-sick with a vile
Ennui. Down yon, they say, War’s torches bloody shine.
Alas, to be so faint of will, one must resign
The chance of brave adventure in the splendid file,-
Of death, perchance! Alas, so lagging in desire!
Ah, all is drunk! Bathyllus, has done laughing, pray?
Ah, all is drunk,—all eaten! Nothing more to say!
Alone, a vapid verse one tosses in the fire;
Alone, a somewhat thievish slave neglecting one;
Alone, a vague disgust of all beneath the sun!
(Paul Verlaine)
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Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Soul Poems, War & Peace Poems, Fire Poems, Gold Poems, Courage Poems, Desire Poems, Chance PoemsBased on Keywords: pass-, neglecting, composing, acrostics, drunk-, bathyllus