Grime's Graves

Here where the dark earth heaves
Like a tossing sea
And frost shakes down the leaves
From the Judas tree
And on the warren lie
The broken flints,
On which like a snake's eye
The green moon glints;

At first I thought, Perhaps
As it only seems
That a flint-knapper knaps,
So all is dreams
And we two are not here;
And then you spoke
And we were standing there
In the moon's white smoke.
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