Your heart house the grit and the guts,
But you aren't ready to respond tooth for tooth
Africa told me you are combative And stubborn
But you instead coil yourself into a rag ...
Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
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