Best Poem of David Lewis Paget

He came down from the mountainside,
His beard was white, his hair was grey,
He brought his retinue of priests
All buckled in a warlike way.
They strode into the village square
And said: 'Now listen, everyone,
Just gather round, pay heed to him,
He's come to warn you - Silvertongue! '

His . . .
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The Harbinger
I was smoking out in the cattleyard
When I heard a thunderous sound,
Beating a path from the mountainside
And shaking the very ground,
Then a horse appeared with a flying mane
It must have been eighteen hands,
Black as a barrel of bitumen,
Hooves clattering over the land.

It was almost . . .
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