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Rh Their gods for shapes of tortured stone, Their faith for shrines that fall, The unknown for the touched and known, Life at the living's call.

They barter songs for the throat that sings, Frail dawns for drowsing days, Eternal moods for brittle Things, Thrush notes for roundelays, The flame of thorn and eglantine For fallow labored lands, Tall lilies touched of Proserpine For lilies of fair hands.

They buy and pass no more that way; Their eyes forget the star, Forget the mysteries of May, Forget the dim and far. They build them tower and high wall To bolt against the spring, To shutter out the mavis' call, And heart's remembering.

But Time, a taper guttering, Drops in a slow decay.