Triumphs.
In a triumph in glory divine
done me older lying
into a shroud, the luck is often
not knowing of the truth
always fight inglorious.
And both could have victory,
and perhaps nothing is worth
lose even the same court or the knife,
the fury that is surely recklessly.
I resist the trace not knowing on how much life
in pain and stronger flame;
In burning of contumacious who knows
death very closely and is not silent.
A soul does not show at last a vassal,
and the same search in vain for anyone boon.
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