What a prodigy, dear Chatterton?
At your teens, you pioneer'd romance.
Alas, poverty be your mighty menace
The silent suicide of arsenic poison.
.
Poverty and tuberculosis in your battles,
All in the blush of bitter rejections.
A virtuoso bedridden in his afflictions,
Norwid, this life unfair - heaven rattles.
.
I mourn the life and death of Crosby;
Her poems and hymns her witness.
She had journey'd all her days in blindness
I imagine with pity how she pranced the lobby.
.
Your lines are great - though
They were written in distress.
Your tears when you mourn'd your mistress,
Your fourty was full of pain, Allan Poe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem