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Rh Are poured. Awake and hear, thou awful King;

Hear in thy darkened soul, O Master mine!

Oh, for some man of might

To aid this land, some high and visible lord

Of battle, shining bright

Against Death; the great lance

Bearing deliverance,

The back-bent Scythian bow, the hilted sword

Close-held to smite and smite!

Behold,

The offerings of the dust are ministered:

But counsel me. I bear another word.

Speak on. My spirit leaps for eagerness.

Cast on the tomb I found this shaven tress.

Who cast it there? What man or zonèd maid?

Methinks that is a riddle quickly read!

Thy thought is swift; and may thine elder know?

What head save mine would blazon thus its woe?