Old Priest’s Parlour…

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Where silver trees have bent their bough

O’er sleepy village streets, we go

to solve the riddle of the stones

A scattered presence in a row.

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To nourish soul and body’s need-

A place where ancient bards ovate,

A haunted landscape sows the seed

For seeker and initiate.

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A stone that moves, a mount aligned,

And after Glaston’s tower named…

And Bronte’s heroine maligned

Associate of pastor’s fame…

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