Dirge of the Cavern Hermit

[Audley Porter]

Happiness bred by sorrow
Twas what pestilence wrought.
Solitude's quarry steals
The alms beggars borrow—
That victual mercy brought
And left for heart-warm meals.
Even gnats flutter past
The harbinger, aghast;
He whom nature labored,
Whose wails lament not heard.
A cheerful hecatomb,
It shant be much missed;
Here rests some beloved's loom
Mocked, then sorely dismissed.

Why hath this evil ailed me?
Oh Lord, I curse thee.

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