From a small seed a mighty trunk may grow.
Against necessity, against its strength, no one can fight and win.
They sent forth men to battle, But no such men return; And home, to claim their welcome, Come ashes in an urn
Only through suffering do we learn
O Death the Healer, scorn thou not, I pray, To come to me: of cureless ills thou art The one physician. Pain lays not its touch Upon a corpse.
I know how men in exile feed on dreams.