Classic Poem

A MATTRESS grave, poor stricken Jew,
For years his broken body knew,
His pale brow wet with deadly dew,
A mattress grave.

Below his prison place of pain,
Thronged all the gay Parisian train,
And helpless in his attic room,
Of anguish, agony, and gloom,

This wounded soul of song and wit,
Pressed wearily through days of doom,
O, pity, grief, and woe of it,
A mattress grave!