You who as peace, peace is not in your nature,
You cannot hope to rest,
Born as you were with that implacable creature
Rooted in your breast.
Adamant is the heart, adamant, lonely, cruel,
Beating against the bone,
Asking a savage question, the necessary fuel
By which it lives alone.
Asking a savage question and not resigned,
The starving heart
Takes its revenge upon the nobler mind
And tears your peace apart.
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