And in Suffering, Consider

Ages passed while my heart wondered of men,
Must all beg for more to wound the broken?
Whither must one go who sighs for beauty
And lies at night alone darkly weary.
Must this one even who burns with sorrow
Search for tears to fill him on the morrow?
And allow one to spy him with disdain
E’en when his foes call him evil’s stain?
Or may one seek what joy awaits on earth?
And lie in wait in glee before true birth?
May one see the hearth before it flames up?
Is’t possible that one may spare the cup…
Or is the cup of deepest sorrow best?

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