The heart of a woman goes forth with the dawn, As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on, Afar o'er life's turrets and vales does it roam In the wake of those echoes the heart calls home
...
[+]
Listless Cytherean princess, sing No more. Begone out of my view! But you, great scourge of tsar and king, Proud Muse of Freedom, where are you? Come rip my laurels off. Bring stones And
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I'm sitting by bars in the damp blackened cell --
The juvenile eagle, who's bred by the jail,
My mournful friend, with his wings stretching wide,
Is picking at bloody food right by my side
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If beasts within a silent forest moan,
If trumpets sound, if thunder rolls and cracks,
Or young girls sing almost inaudibly-
For each initial tone
The atmosphere resounds quite suddenly
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And the just man trailed God's shining agent, over a black mountain, in his giant track, while a restless voice kept harrying his woman: "It's not too late, you can still look back
When, in the night, I wait for her, impatient,
Life seems to me, as hanging by a thread.
What just means liberty, or youth, or approbation,
When compared with the gentle piper's tread?
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[+]
I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . .
"Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?"
— Because I have made my loved one drunk
with an astringent sadness.
A girl sang a song in the temple's chorus,
About men, tired in alien lands,
About the ships that left native shores,
And all who forgot their joy to the end.
The falling is the constant mate of fear,
And feel of emptiness is the feel of fright.
Who throws us the stones from the height --
And stones here refuse the dust to bear?