My Rubaiyat

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1916 - Anarchists - 21 pages
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Page 18 - How can I give right directions When I am a wanderer myself! Onward I stroll and ever on In my own way courting the sun And fashioning Arcadia Of passing winds and flying clouds.
Page 15 - The sword shall break the sword they say, And force shall strangle force some day. Thus men march toward battles red, Their mangled bodies strew the plains, While o'er the corpse the mother wails, Her firstborn slain, her pride in life.
Page 17 - What can we do, how can we help ! The poor can never help the poor, The rich but scatter alms derived From what is due the common herd. The weed plots are crowded thick, Who cuts a path for weary feet!
Page 14 - Why does this world exist at all! How do we dare to love and mate When every path is strewn with thorns, When children share in our fate And age is glad to greet the night!
Page 9 - Like ojd wine it yields the magic Of oblivion and ecstasies, The moments drift on golden clouds To regions of the white beyond.
Page 16 - Women no longer shed their bloom In drudgery for bed and fare, And children age before their time.
Page 15 - But what sad use the world has made Of nature's boundless plenitude. The frank and free, the sane and true Are trodden down by foolish crowds.

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