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  ― 46 ―

Villanelle

OH, hills we loved in sweeter days of old,
What faith shall bind, and what strong love prevail?
The scythe of Time is singing through the gold.

Malefic priests your mysteries have told
On some black rosary of hidden Baal,
Oh, hills we loved in sweeter days of old!

Once walked we there in such diviner mould,
Nor life nor death nor sorrow might assail;
The scythe of Time is singing through the gold.

The flocks of Dawn must couch in Dusk's grey fold
For that veiled shepherd piping down the trail,
Oh, hills we loved in sweeter days of old!

But you are tomb of all the heart might hold;
The dumb days tread like mourners ashen pale;
The scythe of Time is singing through the gold.

A ghostly camp-fire on a windy wold,
We followed, like the knights of ancient tale;
Vain was the questing, far the Holy Grail….
The scythe of Time is singing through the gold.

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