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Hilltop: A Literary Paper. Volume 1 Number 2

1 Night in Tarras

1 Night in Tarras

At evening tramping on the hot white road
By Tarras, where a shadeless sun beats down
On range and river, scorching snowgrass brown
And dwarfish trees—we came where a small stream flowed
From the rocks, a fructifying angel, glowed
Among green cresses, deep enough to drown
Our thirsty flesh; and at the ridge's crown
The whitewashed pub, lethean night's abode.

A wind sprang up from nowhere as the sky
Darkened. We raised the latch of rowan wood
And entering laid our money on the high
Curved bar. And ghosts came round us unwithstood
And drank beside us, travellers born to die,
Like wolves, lapping their honey mead and blood.