Why do poets off themselves
Five times more than others do?
Besides the fact that no one reads
Their work, though every soul approves?
To their own self they seek to be true.
On praise alone no poet feeds.

With finer gauge his brain is wired
(Though his is not a greater heart),
With words he seeks to order the world;
In lines and meter is he inspired
To repair what sin has torn apart,
To smooth the Fall that left him gnarled.

What hopeless task! His words lack force
For such a work — No man can win! —
This power can God alone provide.
What poet will seek in God his source?
With spoken light will he begin?
No wonder he choses suicide!