Moulders in the abyss down there. 
Grim the cliff that upward climbs 
Clamps the ground with iron limbs. 


Round it spreads the radiance glowing 
From its mad and fevered brain, 
Sends the ocean surge a-flowing 
Crazy, round and round again. 
Weary moss shakes grey autumnal locks, 
Blood seeps out from under laughing rocks. 


Midnight comes, with voices roaring 
Crazy from the marble womb, 
Like a thousand years’ life thawing, 
Like remembrance howling doom. 
Should the traveller dare to eavesdrop, he 
Turns to stone and crashes in the sea. 


562 


Karl Marx