Life is heartless, even though it has a heart that beats
Me raw, both because Diana slips beneath the surface
Of my eyes and since Tithonus' consort throws her lances
At their swollen lids. What's more, in summer there are rains,
And winter frosts; it hails, my limbs in lightning sear
And soaked I raise to zealous God. Oh lofty thunderer,
You genesis of life and pain, attend my canticle of rattling chains!
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