They took the world, these tyrants, simpering,
Supercilious thugs caressing soft hands;
Laud they labour and laud they the suffering,
Who never tasted beans cold from the can.
Fairly, equally, they beat and pull down
To place bellow (the most above so few).
Grandiose Beauty’s head held till she drowns;
Shuddering her majesty might pull them too.
We, drunken on the spirit of potent muse,
Full trembling in the moments we are free,
Stagg’ring on the bliss of exquisite truths;
Will spew into ditch or shout into sea,
“Wake up you downed dreamers for your own sakeTake the shore, and all you’ve abandoned, Take!”
Epitaph for Johnathan Bowden by William Scott