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Voltairine de Cleyre

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Ah, not to a blaze of light I go,
Nor shouts of a triumph train;
I go down to kiss the dregs of woe,
And drink up the Cup of Pain.

 
Voltairine de Cleyre

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The Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain;
His blood red banner streams afar:
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Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears his cross below,
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I used to believe there was no light
But I found out
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Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

 
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Drink up, baby, look at the stars
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Leopards break into the temple and drink to the dregs what is in the sacrificial pitchers; this is repeated over and over again; finally it can be calculated in advance, and it becomes a part of the ceremony.

 
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