| Burdens of grief that weigh against me
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| Aid my tired eyes in their search for pitch
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| Your kinds heart now pines
|
| For whom the gods love dies young
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| Wrapped and confounded in a thousand fears
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| The sadness I present, smiles with tears
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| Where once I’d loved now lied forlorn beauty
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| And wars abhorred by mothers
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| No man lives so poor as he was born
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| We don’t remember pure sensations
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| Gaze peacefully into the past
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| I am dust, and to dust I shall return
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| Belial, Mephisto, both shall burn me up
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| Devour my sad whimperings
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| The cutting whip is mine to feel
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| No symphony in mind to colour my dreams
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| Poena damni
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| Sorrow everywhere
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| Please pray for me
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| When deep sleep falls on men
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| Father hold me
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| I am yours to bear
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| Ad te
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| In the play which he has written for the world
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| Night is the mother of sleep
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| Old age is a malady of which one dies
|
| Augury of a better age
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| Sages as far as the beard
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| Their wounds smelled so sweetly
|
| Temptation, the father of my lust
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| Chalcedony shines like the new born
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| Stricken I’d raise my dripping limbs
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| Splendid was the innocentcs fall |