The Glare! The Heat!
The glare! The heat! O Nice, you blind me!
by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
A dull unease upon me settles...
Life, like a bird shot down, strains wildly
To fly - In vain! Its wings are fetters,
Its broken wings... As in a fever
It struggles on, yet is it vanquished:
Pressed to the dust it lies and shivers
In fear and impotence and anguish...