Verse > W.B. Yeats > The Wind Among the Reeds
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W.B. Yeats (1865–1939).  The Wind Among the Reeds.  1899.

22. The Valley of the Black Pig


THE DEWS drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears 
Suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes, 
And then the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries 
Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears. 
We who still labour by the cromlec on the shore,         5
The grey cairn on the hill, when day sinks drowned in dew, 
Being weary of the world’s empires, bow down to you 
Master of the still stars and of the flaming door. 


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