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think of the twilight's net. LXVI The songs we fashion from our new delight Are echoes. When the first of men sang out, He shuddered, hearing not alone the shout Of hills but of the peoples in the night. LXVII And all the marvels that our eyes behold Are pictures. There has happened some event For each of them, and this they represent-- Our lives are like a tale that has been told. LXVIII There is a palace, and the ruined wall Divides the sand, a very home of tears, And where love whispered of a thousand years The silken-footed caterpillars crawl. LXIX And where the Prince commanded, now the shriek Of wind is flying through the court of state: "Here," it proclaims, "there dwelt a potentate Who could not hear the sobbing of the weak." LXX Beneath our palaces the corner-stone Is quaking. What of noble we possess, In love or courage or in tenderness, Can rise from our infirmities alone. LXXI We suffer--that we know, and that is all Our knowledge. If we recklessly should strain To sweep aside the solid rocks of pain, Then would the domes of love and courage fall. LXXII But there is one who trembles at the touch Of sorrow less than all of you, for he Has got the care of no big treasury, And with regard to wits not overmuch. LXXIII I think our world is not a place of rest, But where a man may take his little ease, Until the landlord whom he never sees Gives that apartment to another guest. LXXIV Say that you come to life as 'twere a feast, Prepared to pay whatever is the bill Of death or tears or--surely, friend, you will Not shrink at death, which is among the least? LXXV Rise up against your troubles, cast away What is too great for mortal man to bear. But seize no foolish arms against the share Which you the piteous mortal have to pay. LXXVI Be gracious to the King. You cannot feign That nobody was tyrant, that the sword Of justice always gave the just award Before these Ghassanites began to reign. LXXVII You cultivate the ranks of golden grain, He cultivates the cavaliers. They go With him careering on some other foe, And your battalions will be staunch again. LXXVIII The good law and the bad law disappear Below the flood of custom, or they float And, like the wonderful Sar'aby coat, They captivate us for a little year. LXXIX God pities him who pities. Ah, p
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