I24 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
The beastliness they have become. 
Wealth complaining in its stye ! 
Stark starvation standing by ! 
Poet, painter, sculptor, sage 
Prostituted to their age ; 
Or starved or tortured, should they hold 
To the clear sunlight and the age of gold, 
— Scarce a tithe of all I see, 
Yet — thou dost not pity me ? 
 
ALEXANDER 
 
Thou art near death :  thy corpse light dawns on us. 
See !  the tenebrous glare and venomous 
And all it shews.  Enough !  I leave thee, man, 
To hide me in the secret place of Pan 
Beneath the fallen groves Arcadian. 
 
He fades away, as if the new light, making the filth 
visible, made him invisible. 
 
ISSA 
 
I am nailed here too fast : — 
I strain in agony aghast ; 
For I have blotted out the sun 
From the sight of everyone.