And at the darkest gloom was holy night,
At the longing thought was all but shade,
In the bitter wake he comes but snares,
In bitter tale he could hardly weep,
And in the salty tears, there was only thought,
But in only thought, only gloom despaired,
Though gloom was known his heart can tell,
Once known before was now in doubt,
As though it were a dream foretold,
In more he dreamt was now nightmare,
Though less he slept more he dreamt,
So dark his thoughts he cannot tell,
So wise his heart who knew what knew,
When man comes here, a man calms down,
Thus when he slept the world comes near,
So when he dies there shall be peace.

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Life, Poetry, Works
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