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),
listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Text added to the website: 2010-08-05.
Notes about green, red, and white dots
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