A translation of a poem written by Matthew Arnold without ever reading the original version.
Hundreds of doctors
do their utmost to make you attend their institution,
they yell and yell that here we have truth,
but the dear truth they're selling,
is no more than what you're already provided with.
Once and for all you know your heart,
fear never again tears you apart.
Man wouldn't get any revelation,
even it's one thousand year he pursues .
And in that temple, when asked what's your trouble, it means
to rank yourself low .

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