Why do you dig like long-clawed scavengers <br />To touch the covered corpse of him that fled <br />The uplands for the fens, and rioted <br />Like a sick satyr with doom’s worshippers? <br />Come! let the grass grow there; and leave his verse <br />To tell the story of the life he led. <br />Let the man go: let the dead flesh be dead, <br />And let the worms be its biographers. <br /> <br />Song sloughs away the sin to find redress <br />In art’s complete remembrance: nothing clings <br />For long but laurel to the stricken brow <br />That felt the Muse’s finger; nothing less <br />Than hell’s fulfilment of the end of things <br />Can blot the star that shines on Paris now.<br /><br />Edwin Arlington Robinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/verlaine/
