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1862–1932

THE SCARLET HILLS

Gilbert Parker

Brothers, we go to the Scarlet Hills — ( Little gold sun, come out of the dawn. ) There we will meet in the cedar groves — ( Shining white dew, come down. )

There is a bed where you sleep so sound, The little good folk of the Hills will guard, Till the morning wakes and your love comes home — ( Fly away, heart, to the Scarlet Hills. )

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THE SCARLET HILLS · Gilbert Parker · Poetry Cove