The Perishing

Dread dreamer of north waste
Rolling tongue without taste
Lolled head and softly bled
As he thought, tranced -
Tranced, as dead -
Of green rings and iron kings
And birds without a sky;
Of mists fell where men dwell
Born only to die;
Of three fair and three foul -
Black hawks in golden cowl;
While mountains part with wizard's art
And poisoned dart.
A boy child in hunter's cape
Red gold mail strung to the nape
A bow bears with shaft bent;
His twin horses, black,
Are rent.
The dart flies, the arrow cries,
The city burns, the line dies.
All but one,
All save one,
All but one,
Forget the sun.

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