FRANZ SCHUBERT,
died 1828, age 31, wrote the following words just a few months after the onset of an illness that would eventualy kill him.
"See abased in dust and mire,
Scorched by agonizing fire,
I in torture go my way,
Nearing dooms destructive day.
Take my life, my flesh, my blood,
Plunge it all in Lethe's flood,
To a purer stronger state
Deign me, Great One, to translate".
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I am sure we would all agree that these are very great lines of poetry conveying powerful truths in searing beautiful language.
Somehow it reminds me of, T.S. Eliot, from the Four Quartets when he wrote;-
We only live,
we only suspire,
consumed by either
fire or fire.
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Like Keats, whose works he almost certainly didn't know, Schubert had a clear sense that his life would be short, and that he would have to work at a sustained fever pitch to put on paper the vast wealth of ideas contained in his genius.
Like Mozart, Schubert possessed a remarkable ability to compose quite lengthy of music in his head, and then from memory commit them to paper at a later time.
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