Helen of Troy
XIV.

Andrew Lan

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Then spake the stranger,--as when to a maid

A young man speaks, his voice was soft and low, -

"Alas, no God am I; be not afraid,

For even now the nodding daisies grow

Whose seed above my grassy cairn shall blow,

When I am nothing but a drift of white

Dust in a cruse of gold; and nothing know

But darkness, and immeasurable Night.

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