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THE LONE OF SOUL
Like the great pine that, rocking no sweet nest,
Swings no young birds to sleep upon the bough.
But where the raven only comes to croak—
“There lives no man more desolate than thou!”
So goes the lone of soul amid the world—
No love upon his breast, with singing, cheers;
But Sorrow builds her home within his heart.
And, nesting there, will rear her brood of tears.
