Weep not anew



When softly weeps the rock of age,
Then swiftly gleams
A ray of woe,
And how oft
Have we heard it told,
The pacing fears
And the make of decay,
The whippings
And the ravish in a day,
The pain-filled murmurs
Of those toddlers bred,
The beatings
And molesting of the aged,
The ravages and tears of maidens
To bear.

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