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THE VALLEY OF THE BLACK PIG
The dews drop slowly and dreams gather:unknown [spears
Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes,
And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries
Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.
We who still labour by the cromlech on de shore,
The grey cair on the hill, when day sinks drowned
[in dew,
Being weary of the world´s empires, bow down to you,
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.
W. B. Yeats
THE VALLEY OF THE BLACK PIG
The dews drop slowly and dreams gather:unknown [spears
Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes,
And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries
Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.
We who still labour by the cromlech on de shore,
The grey cair on the hill, when day sinks drowned
[in dew,
Being weary of the world´s empires, bow down to you,
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door.
W. B. Yeats
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