POETS die because they find
                       Words too petty to express
                    All the things they have in mind.
                       Rime and rhythm only dress
                       All their naked loveliness.

                    Poets die because their love
                       Grows too great for life to stem;
                    Death alone can soar above
                       Limits that encircle them.

                    Poets die because --- but why
                       Should divine ones be divined?
                    Let the sleeping secret lie!
                    It suffices --- poets die.