There sighs, lamentations and loud wailings resounded through the starless air, so that at first it made me weep; strange tongues, horrible language, words of pain, tones of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and with these the sound of hands, made a tumult which is whirling through that air forever dark, and sand eddies in a whirlwind.
At grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain; the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.
Nothing which is harmonized by the bond of the Muse can be changed from its own to another language without destroying its sweetness
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