Poems (Taylor)/Prevision

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PREVISION
While all the dancing days that pass  Take oath we cannot die,Alas! Alas! green grows the grass  Whereunder you must lie.
A golden Knight, sans fear or peer,  Lord Love great challenge saith:—The hooded year is moving near  That strikes my heart with death.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!  O bitterness thereof!The sons of Lust, they moulder. Must  So fare the sons of Love?
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