O mundo é torpe, a vida um caos, a carne fraca.
E tudo que é requinte a idéia troz de um crime
O pobre sonhador que ao vulgo não se arrime,
Na tétrica ribalta em sombras se destaca.1
View original text (without footnotes)
1 note: the original poem continues.
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text),
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Text added to the website: 2010-08-05.
Notes about what "text verified" means can be found here.
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