It Seems We Were Made To Suffer

Thy skin changes country and colour, And shrivels or swells to a snake's. Let it brighten and bloat and grow duller, We know it, the flames and the flakes, Red brands on it smitten and bitten, Round skies where a star is a stain, And the leaves with thy litanies written, Our Lady of Pain. -Algernon Charles Swinburne "Dolores (Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs)" (1866)
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