For the jolting that brands the delightful
Dark bruises on delicate limbs.
And the Alps shall be ranked with the asses
For the fracture, the frostbite, the sprain,
And the mangling of flesh in crevasses,
Our Lady of Pain!
And if—leaving me, though, unshattered—
An accident fell should betide,
And the train that I ride in is scattered
In ruin on every side—