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Sir Henry Gaunt was a mighty lord.
The governors were as naught to him.
Of his great plantations, flung out wide
Life and death in his white hands lay,
He sat at wine in his gold and his lace,
Hawk came near, and she covered her face.
He rode in the fields, and the hunt was brave,
A shriek that the seas cried out to hear,
And he could not see and he could not save.
Her white soul withered in the mire
As paper shrivels up in fire,
And Hawk laughed, and he kissed her mouth,
THE GROWING OF THE HEMP
SIR HENRY stood in the manor room,
And he said, "Go dig me furrows five
Where the green marsh creeps like a thing alive
There at its edge, where the rushes thrive."
And where the furrows rent the ground,
He sowed the seed of hemp around.