In sullen September travelled I,
where the weary Salle wanders by
Shiller's rich and famous town,
softly skirts Wiemar's green lit forest gown.
This day, the rain was dreary set,
past days the reign was terror set,
whence rose the phoenix of cant hypocracy!
from social new-found democracy!
To taint with blood the virgin snow,
Aryan spitits unleashed did freely flow
with inglorious passion, bereft of God,
made carnage where humane foot once trod;
as death became the fodder of the day,
proud religion, unlamented, swept away
by those in borrowed plumes, furnish
spurious tears and arrant falsehood garnish,
to pleasure rape differing cultures' worth,
in proud pretence, a new cleansed earth
flew with vultures, drunk with low desire,
scorched the sacred earth with wanton fire,
'carte blanche' deeds, fatal hand disperse
heaps of dust that once a coloured universe;
for sadly lies amid this lush forest's shade
mountain of human ashes, religious rites unpaid.
Dull burns the sun in all of its disgrace,
whose pitying sky dons grey its veiled face,
through the reckoning shadows of infamy,
once human dregs, now immortal ghosts of history.
Pray, pray here, soft dew and rain bestow
tears enpugh to make the sweetest roses grow.