Sebastian Melmoth

Sebastian Melmoth is walking slowly along the riverbank.
The Seine floats gently by, as if to assure him that history does likewise, bringing fresh water and hitherto unthinkable changes into this world.
He wonders how many of his pains could have been spared him, if only he had lived further down the stream, maybe even all the way down, where the river spread itself out into the vast open seas.
But what about all the thrills, then?
Would they, too, have been lost?

And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourners will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.

I am Sebastian Melmoth.