Thomas Mann

The climate of his careful observation,

Burgher and poet in his green embrace,

Was given to techniques and introspection;

And his continuous theme was the disgrace

That tore him like a mistress and a wife.

His curious southern hunger broke the fast

Within the mighty fortress of his God.

He sometimes shuddered but found nothing odd,

But loathed and savored evil like a priest,

Whose studied dying had become his life.

And when, according to his old suspicion,

His ocean left him for a sounder shore,

Before it shrank he saw the need to ration

The ambergris of his immense frustration,

And gave the placid world one horror more.

Dean Jeffress