The Vagrant of Time

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

IN THE VALLEY OF LUCHON


 

DAY long, and night long,
     From the soaring peaks and the snow,
Down through the valley villages
     The cold white waters flow.

Quiet are the villages;

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     And very quiet the cloud
At rest on the breast of the mountain;
     But the falling waves are loud

Through the little, clustering cottages,
     Through the little, climbing fields,

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Where every sunburnt vineyard
     Its patch of purple yields.

High hung, a steel-bright scimitar,
     The crooked glacier gleams.
The white church in the valley

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     Where the red oleander dreams.

And every wonder of beauty
     Comes, as a dream comes, true,
Where the sun drips rose from the ledges
     And the moon by the peak swims blue.

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