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As freedom's sower in the wasteland Before the morning star I went; From hand immaculate and chastened Into the grooves of prisonment Flinging the vital seed I wandered-- But it was time and toiling squandered, Benevolent designs misspent... Graze on, graze on, submissive nation! You will not wake to honor's call. Why offer herds their liberation? For them are shears or slaughter-stall, Their heritage each generation The yoke with jingles, and the gall. Alexander Pushkin |
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