Upon the wanton wasted land
Where ash and sin interred,
Have burnt the beauty of the world,
You spread the holy word
And blooming up in breathless haste
Upon the cold and empty waste
The seeds of innocence have sprung
The angels of Avalon have sung
My tears have watered all the ways
The bards have sung a thousand lays
And yet I see the beating strains
Of warmth not dead within my veins
A pilgrim in the tombs of lust
Encumbered in a world of rust
Till the frost upon the window pane
Melts away in gentle rain
Take my hand, let gentle grace
Erase the furrows on my face
Walk with me backwards, on and on
Take me back to Avalon
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