O what a woe is this! that I, A child of Him who reigns on high, Should dwell in this mortality! Why do I deem that foul is fair, That dark is light, and hope despair? And who is Truth's interpreter? O well-a-day! and woe is me! How may I gain the golden key To loose my fetters and be free? For life is false, and love is cold, And truth itself is bought and sold, And earth is mildewed, worn, and old.
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