O, clement thoughts those settle in my world of loneliness,
And bloom mild passionate colors of lenient sadness;
Your  apathetic thorns of pitiful innocent accusation
Poke my painful bleeding wounds of frustration,  
And engulf my gasping humanity in wild ruination,
While I still stand a dim deeming bough in wilderness
Of my human quake, of my blameful fall into futile awareness,
And dream like a man, and think as pious flawless creation,
Of paltry wisdom that's immured in insignificant desolation;
Here all alone carrying my eternal agony into calm distress,
Which anneals my burdens and darkens my insipid egress,
while lost elation strolls beyond my depressed horizon,
and is granted for all, I think, and all think I'm beyond their isolation.
thus the weal of weary ignorance is concealed in vigilant blindness.