Hear me, hear me, I am sad,
And
Wish to go to Hastings Gardens
Now
That it be dusk, red dusk
And
Fallen
Is the glory of the day:
Fallen
The peacock beauty of the gaudy
Noon
And all the glories of its
Golden reign:
These are now faded,
Fallen.
Beneath a bending tree
In Hastings Gardens
In pilgrim shabbiness
Dressed
Bent more than the tree
Mourns Hope.
Weeping
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