The poem
To bear a weight that cannot be borne, Sisyphus, even you aren't that strong, Although your heart cannot be torn Time is short and Art is long. Far from celebrated sepulchers Toward a solitary graveyard My heart, like a drum muffled hard Beats a funeral march for the ill-starred.
—Many jewels are buried or shrouded In darkness and oblivion's clouds, Far from any pick or drill bit,
Many a flower unburdens with regret Its perfume sweet like a secret; In profoundly empty solitude to sit.