Never can I do in peace
That with which my Soul’s obsessed,
Never take things at my ease;
I must press on without rest.
Others only know elation
When things go their peaceful way,
Free with self-congratulation,
Giving thanks each time they pray.
I am caught in endless strife,
Endless ferment, endless dream;
I cannot conform to Life,
Will not travel with the stream.
Dead and dumb, they stare away
At our deeds with scorn up yonder;
We and all our works decay --
Heedless on their ways they wander.
Yet their lot I would share never --
Swept on by the flooding tide,
On through nothing rushing ever,
Fretful in their Pomp and Pride.
Then let us traverse with daring
That predestined God-drawn ring,
Joy and Sorrow fully sharing
As the scales of Fortune swing.
Therefore let us risk our all,
Never resting, never tiring;
Not in silence dismal, dull,
Without action or desiring;
Not in brooding introspection
Bowed beneath a yoke of pain,
So that yearning, dream and action
Unfulfilled to us remain.
Poem by KARL MARX, in 1830's
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