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When meadows are grey with the morn In the dusk of the woods it is night: The oak and the birch and the pine War with the glimmer of light.
Dryads brown as the leaf Move in the gloom of the glade; When meadows are grey with the morn Dim night in the wood has delayed.
The cocks that crow to the land Are faint and hollow and shrill: Dryads brown as the leaf Whisper, and hide, and are still.
Siegfried Sassoon
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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