Lityerses

Twilight stifled the valley wearily
And from the hillside, spattered with fragments
Chipped from a broken sun, a cracked breath
Of dead and brittle song tossed its bones—
Ringing like dream-armor in a sleepy world:
As must have rung the harvest-song of Linos
Luring the benighted wayfarer to a death
Of bloody water in a heap of stones.
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