Передня обкладинка
Createspace Independent Pub, 9 бер. 2015 р. - 44 стор.
"[...]his deadly track Death, that would smite you black and mar your creatures, And with one hand disroot All tender flower and fruit,180 With one strike blind and mute the heaven's fair features, Pluck out the eyes of morn, and make Silence in the east and blackness whence the bright songs break. [Ant. 3. Help, earth, help, heaven, that hear The song-notes of our fear, Shrewd notes and shrill, not clear or joyful-sounding; Hear, highest of Gods, and stay Death on his hunter's way, Full on his forceless prey his beagles hounding; Break thou his bow, make short his hand,190 Maim his fleet foot whose passage kills the living land. [Str. 4. Let a third wave smite not us, father, Long since sore smitten of twain, Lest the house of thy son's son perish And his name be barren on earth. Whose race wilt thou comfort rather If none to thy son remain? Whose seed wilt thou choose to cherish If his be cut off in the birth? [Ant. 4. For the first fair graft of his graffing200 Was rent from its maiden root By[...]".

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