Dripping in tears, the scars of the past are unbearable,
No more shall we lose ourselves to anger and drown in hatred,
Our blood cries from the grave with the message of sadness,
All love that has not friendship for its base,
Is like a mansion built upon the sand.
Though brave its walls as any in the land,
And its tall turrets lift their heads in grace;
Though skillful and accomplished artists trace
Most beautiful designs on every hand,
And gleaming statues in dim niches stand,
And mountains play in some flow'r-hidden place:
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