Poems (Hoffman)/Lines (May the first song and yet the last I sing)
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LINES
May the first song and yet the last I sing,
Be of the sweet bird with the broken wing
That struggles in the red-stained grass to rise,
And pours its music into thankless skies;
Be of the rosebud bright and fair,
Breathing sweet fragrance from the air;
Be of the heart that torn and wounded lives
Above the anguish that another gives,
That lets no bitterness from all its wrong
Taint its pure sweetness or make harsh its song.
Be of the sweet bird with the broken wing
That struggles in the red-stained grass to rise,
And pours its music into thankless skies;
Be of the rosebud bright and fair,
Breathing sweet fragrance from the air;
Be of the heart that torn and wounded lives
Above the anguish that another gives,
That lets no bitterness from all its wrong
Taint its pure sweetness or make harsh its song.