And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking
of cemeteries.
Banners of scarlet rattle through a sadness of maple
trees,
Riders along rye-fields, empty mills.
Or shepherds sing during the night, and stags step
delicately
Into the circle of their fire, the grove’s sorrow
immensely old,
Dancing, they loom up from one black wall;
Banners of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets
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The wild heart grew white in the forest;
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In the spirit’s solitary hours
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Rockets drizzle in the yellow sunshine;
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Painted angels guard the altars;
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The blue soul has mutely closed,
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