For Franz Schubert (1797 - 1828)
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To be born for beauty
Only to reflect sadness;
To be born of genius
But live like a pauper:
O it all seems so cruel.
It all seems so tragic.
There are so few of us
Who can embrace this life;
With all its turbulent storms;
In all its flashing madness.
Alas dear Franz Schubert,
One of the most sublime,
Yet frailest of all souls,
Was not of those rare breeds.
Bu şiiri puanla
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