Who will go drive with Fergus now, And
pierce the deep wood's woven shade, And
dance upon the level shore? Young
man, lift up your russet brow, And
lift your tender eyelids, maid, And
brood on hopes and fears no more. And
no more turn aside and brood Upon
Love's bitter mystery, For
Fergus rules the brazen cars, And
rules the shadows of the wood, And
the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars. |
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