One day four masked men, upon orders received, Threw themselves upon him and bound him hand and foot, So that he could only move his legs.
The Whip's harsh lash slashed at his back, And they told him to be on his way without delay. - along the road that leads to Bedlam.
He began to smile while scourged and spoke to them with such feelings, Such intelligence concerning so many human sciences he had studied - displaying vast erudition for one who had not yet crossed the threshold of youth.
And his discourse on Humanity's Destiny, During which he laid absolutely bare the poetic nobility of his soul, Made his captors – shaken to the core by what they had done – unbind his battered limbs And fall on their knees begging forgiveness.
His excessive Modesty, which dawned on him because of this idea of being but a monster, Prevents his bestowing his glowing compassion upon any man.
He shelters behind his self-respect, offended by this blasphemous assumption Which arises solely from himself and persists in remaining alone And without solace in the midst of torments. His pride repeats to him this axiom: "Let each keep to his own kind."Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
