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When the guards of the house tremble,
    and the men of strength are bent;
the grinders cease because they are few,
    and those looking through the windows see dimly.
When the doors on the street are shut,
    when the sound of the grinding mill is low;
one rises up to the sound of the bird,
    and all the daughters of song are brought low.
They are afraid of heights,
    and terrors are on the road.
The almond tree blossoms,
    and the grasshopper draws itself along, and desire fails
because man goes to his eternal home,
    and the mourners go about in the streets.

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