In this great land of uncommon sages
Where iniquities have become rated
And hard labour, paid with meagre wages
While morals and truth are dead hated
...
In the hope of an umpteen boon I sit
Like a star still in the spell of the night
Shunning the dole of diurnal orbit
Solo scouring mega rays of the Light
...
How many schemes may die
In one short Afternoon
Entirely unknown
To those they most concern-
The man that was not lost
Because by accident
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