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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mosada, by William Butler Yeats This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Mosada A dramatic poem Author: William Butler Yeats Release Date: August 14, 2010 [EBook #33430] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOSADA *** Produced by Brian Foley and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of this document. MOSADA. A Dramatic Poem. BY W. B. YEATS. WITH A Frontispiece Portrait of the Author By J. B. YEATS. _Reprinted from the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY REVIEW._ DUBLIN: PRINTED BY SEALY, BRYERS, AND WALKER, 94, 95 AND 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET. 1886. [Illustration] MOSADA. "_And my Lord Cardinal hath had strange days in his youth._" _Extract from a Memoir of the Fifteenth Century._ MOSADA, A Moorish Lady. EBREMAR, A Monk. COLA, A Lame Boy. MONKS AND INQUISITORS. SCENE I. _A Little Moorish Room in the Village of Azubia. In the centre of the room a chafing dish._ _Mosada._ [_alone_] Three times the roses have grown less and less, As slowly Autumn climbed the golden throne Where sat old Summer fading into song, And thrice the peaches flushed upon the walls, And thrice the corn around the sickles flamed, Since 'mong my people, tented on the hills, He stood a messenger. In April's prime (Swallows were flashing their white breasts above Or perching on the tents, a-weary still From waste seas cross'd, yet ever garrulous) Along the velvet vale I saw him come: In Autumn, when far down the mountain slopes The heavy clusters of the grapes were full, I saw him sigh and turn and pass away; For I and all my people were accurst Of his sad God; and down among the grass Hiding my face, I cried long, bitterly. Twas evening, and the cricket nation sang Around my head and danced among the grass; And all was dimness till a dying leaf
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