Though the world keeps changing its form as fast as a cloud, still what is accomplished falls home to the Primeval. Over the change and the passing, larger and freer, soars your eternal song, god with the lyre. Never has grief been possessed, never has love been learned, and what removes us in death is not revealed. Only the song through the land hallows and heals. Translated by Stephen MitchellSourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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