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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