What is there in this world left?

What is there, tell me, left
In this world, other than dreams and hopes?
What is there, tell me, kept
In this world, other than green valleys, with flowered slopes?
What is there, tell me, to sing
other than the Holy Parchments that thou for all bring?

What is, tell me, the only way
To be  forever gliding the windy way?
To be in the rightest spirit to embrace and begin a day?
Other than singing thou, drenched by thine golden rays?

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