Tharold

The sad poem of a dying personality......... A war takes everything away................

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1. Thatold

Do not twine garlands of myrtle for my forehead

Nor pluck sweet roses to adorn me

Make me a crown of somber violets

     For I am dying

 

The sweet lips of the maidens of Busk

And the flashing feet of dancing Goatherds

Will never again quicken my desire

      For I am dying

 

Come to me merciful Meripon

In your ark chariot drawn by swallows

From the dim halls beyond the Gates

      For I am dying

 

I kiss the peaks of Lamedon with my eyes

And the white arms of the passionate sea

Which loves this beautiful island that I love

      For I am dying 

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