In this sevenâstanza monologue the poet holds up a mirror for humanity, revealing that it has carried its own âcorpseâ of past errors through ages and that its civilization is gnawing at its knees. He declares that truth and comfort are fleeting, that the modern world lives in nihilism and hollow devotion to golden calves, while artists and creators must break their chains and live for lightning rather than rust. The poem then frames a âtwoâthousandâyear deliriumâ of eternal recurrence, insisting that each choice echoes through all time and that what we create or destroy becomes our crime. Finally he urges the reader to rise above the common plane, choose the harder right each day, and live consciously in the weighty echo of every action, for âgood and evilâ are handed down by halfâmen who never truly lived.






















