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BEETHOVEN
HE cursed the day that he was born:
And deaf and desolate,
Resolved, in bitterness forlorn,
To end his hapless fate.
But as the deeper silence grew,—
An exile from the throng,
His yearning spirit voices drew
From inner founts of song;
And he who called unfriendly death
To calm rebellious strife,
Won from his own despair the breath
Of an immortal life.
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