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Can we, by any strength of ours,

Thrust back this hostile world

That tears us from ourselves,

As a child from the womb,

A weak lover from light breasts?

Is there any hope?

Can we believe

That not in wild perversity,

In blinding cruelty,

Has flesh torn flesh,

Has soul been torn from soul?

Must we despair?

Throw back upon the gods this taunt

That even their loveliest is at best

Some ineffectual lie?

Sand in the gale whirls up,

Pricks and stifles our flesh,

Blinds and deafens our sense

So that we cannot hear

The crumbling downfall of the waves

Nor see the limpid sunset any more.

But could we thrust from us

This threat, this misery,