"To fall asleep in your embrace,Land of our dreams, what bliss,O you our cradle, you our grave,You the new hope we ever crave,Peninsula so beautiful,Finland for aye our all!"

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Swift flies our time on pinions fleet, Like vapours on the breeze; The transient bliss we now call sweet, The passing moments seize. The gilded joy, the present hour, Soon wing themselves away; Departing like the fading flower That pleas'd us Yesterday.

— William Muir