When the tip tole toils round the corner
To and fro it flings about
And its cold hands grab the soul
Then life disperse into tin air
And the corpse lowered down the soil
Of what beauty is the body?
Does properties worth fighting for?

If the body is of earth
And the soul worth eternity
Then both billows in contrast
When the abstract being surrounds the corner
And the breath locked, its key lost
Of what side will thy work be found?
The body or the soul?

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