Thorpe Langton this afternoon: In Time of ‘The Breaking of Nations’
Saturday, June 25, 2016
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IOnly a man harrowing clodsIn a slow silent walkWith an old horse that stumbles and nodsHalf asleep as they stalk.
IIOnly thin smoke without flameFrom the heaps of couch-grass;Yet this will go onward the sameThough Dynasties pass.
IIIYonder a maid and her wightCome whispering by:War’s annals will cloud into nightEre their story die.
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