The Song Of Free

The wounded snake its hood unfurls,

The flame stirred up doth blaze,

The desert air resounds the calls

Of  heart-struck lion’s rage.

The cloud puts forth it deluge strength

When lightning cleaves its breast,

When the soul is stirred to its in most depth

Great one unfold their best.

Let eyes grow dim and heart grow faint,

And friendship fail and love betray,

Let Fete its hundred horrors send,

And clotted darkness block the way.

All  nature wear one angry frown,

To crush you out- still know, my soul,

You are Divine. March on the on,

Nor right nor left but to the goal.

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