| Oh the blood-red rose is trembling,
Trembling in the palm that broke the branch,
And the heart-red gash is throbbing,
Throbbing in the flesh these thorns have rent.
Spring is gone, and summer’s come,
And all seems right within—
But who knows what is right
When all is wrong within?
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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)