O host of fools soulless and happy!
You cannot bear the bloody splendor of the crown.
Which on the forehead of the singer
Puts a hand of stones, so late fair!
So rejoice, despicable crowd,
Read the past and our days hid:
Prophets are driven by black fate;
Ferocious sorrows guard them;
They drag their days in agony
And serpents dig into their hearts.
Ah, how much I see unfinished creatures,
Beckoning the soul with the beauty of hope
Pledge of woeful for the flame of talent
Worlds destroyed by the atrocities of the ignorant!
in The Fate of Poets - Wilhelm Küchelbecker