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The warden of men hath wasted this world till the sound of music and revel is stilled, And these giant-built structures stand empty of life. He who shall muse on these mouldering ruins, And deeply ponder this darkling life, Must brood on old legends of battle and bloodshed, And heavy the mood that troubles his heart: Where now is the warrior? Where is the war horse? the wanderer, anon., Anglo-Saxon, circa 900's |
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