Countrymen! Sleep! There's no train here
Condemned as we are, who to fear?
Consider crushed stones the rose bed,
Tracks are soft pillows, place your head.
Haven't we had many thorns in life?
Have we failed to face any strife?
Like peaceful children, hence, they slept,
Although their souls within them wept.
Wherefrom, like fate, that train appear?
Our deadly tired bodies to tear!
That...
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