Barmecidal Throne

A demented mind of a poor wretch, who fathoms himself, to be Ulysses.

Where art thou, the phantom of my grim threnody,
When I await those saintly seraphim of my paean,
Who shall accompany my soul onto the lofty halls
Of a glorious abode of the sempiternal immortals?

Wherefore must I be accurst and condemn'd then,
To the brimstone of the Abaddon of transgressors, 
If I am the mighty king of the indomitable legions, 
And splendid maidens have quoth'd my name ere?

Herefore, no obeisance shall I make to a vicissitude,
And the clamour of the spectres who haunt me daily,
In the eerie madness of my surcease I have detest'd,
  With the vigour and rancour that hath consum'd me.    

Whence, hath the shadow of the fiend worshipp'd me?
Hath that insolent craven sung my ominous dirge yet?
I shall reign till the nobles have built me a mausoleum,
And my supreme subjects shall revere my deeds anon. 

Virginal streams of Arcadia shall gush onto cascades,
And blissful gardens shall be awaken'd by the gleams
Of those vast heavens anointing my perpetual majesty,
Before a throng of admirers who shall weep my death.  

I shall thus breathe the eternal winds of the Pleaides,
Who shall lead me onto the old Pantheon of the Gods,
When I shall vanish afterwards into the abyss of time, 
Within the blazing cinders of my cadent quintessence.  

Besee ye the foolish ingrates of destiny and the past,
For I shall not sway once before thy swinish sniggers;
But instead, I shall laugh at e'ery brash countenance,
Who hath damn'd me incessantly within my delirium.

I am Ulysses king of all the kings, and my palace,
Is bedizen'd with shining gold and diamond rubies, 
As I sit in the haughty seat of my viduous kingdom,
In the daunting world that is my barmecidal throne.