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A poem by Olive Tilford Dargan

A Dirge

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Title:     A Dirge
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan [More Titles by Dargan]

Mortal child, lay thee where
Earth is gift and giver;
Midnight owl, witch, or bear
Shall disturb thee never!

Softly, softly take thy place,
Turn from man thy waning face;
Fear not thou must lie alone,
Sleep-mates thou shalt have anon.

(Clock of Time none commands,
Driveth not the winter floods,
Where the silent, tireless sands
Run the ages of the gods.)

Thine is not a jealous bed;
Pillow here hath every head;
All that are and all to be
Shall ask a little room of thee.

(Feet of flame, haste nor creep
Where the stars are of thy pace;
Heart of fire, in shadows sleep,
With the sun in thy embrace.)

Babe of Time, old in care,
Sweet is Earth, the giver;
Owlet, witch, or midnight bear
Shall disturb thee never.


[The end]
Olive Tilford Dargan's poem: Dirge

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