Götterdämmerung
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I SEE A FANATICAL HOLY WAR
BAPTIZING THIS WORLD
IN AN UNQUENCHABLE FIRE
The Isles of Greece
The mountains look on Marathonn, Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dream’d that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persians’ grave, I could not deem myself a slave.
When the sun set, where were they? And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now — The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? ’Tis something in the dearth of fame, Though link’d among a fetter’d race, To feel at least a patriot’s shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear.
Must we but weep o’er days more blest? Must we but blush?—Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae!
ByronScience has found that nothing can disappear without a trace.
Nature does not know extinction,
All it knows is transformation.
Wernher Magnus Maximilian Freiherr von Braun
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