In front of us, mighty, did make us shrink,

The dark mountain behold, with clouded white.

Yet ignorant of lowland's drowning plight,

Did remind me of untouched page and ink.

A private world cliche: "above the stink,"

That cloud of arrogance, eternal night.

To rise above others, to gain false height,

Yet in the solitude of gold they sink.

How laughable, the halls are the mountain,

"Superior" darkness in pure marble.

Impossible to join or leave behind,

To break ancient tradition stone is sin.

Ivy and crushing clouds consume the soul,

To leave and conquer, never joy to find.