"Not in vain doth thy heart cry",
they would say me,
through the night;
though as I rise there seems a weight,
is bearing down upon all sides;
though in stillness, doth that cry,
seem all the louder for the rise;
as clouds bring mornings with eager strides,
I gaze, the colors - all so bright -
their passing, an illustrious and wondrous sight
And so I wonder only that I,
carry within me that heart's cry.
More profound than o'er the night,
the day brings calm, but not respite,
aye, indeed, doth thy heart cry;
When all is stillness,
and all is calm.
Not in vain, perchance not so;
Yet I feel its beating all the more;
in stillness,
a pain that seeks to end its beating.
"But not in vain doth thy heart cry",
they would say me,
all the while.
Aye, not in vain doth thy heart cry
- yet in sorrow I live with no respite.
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