Come, gather the fruits of the Summer
and build me a bower apart,
For the Wheel of the Year is turning,
and now is the time of my heart.
The sound of my Lover is laughter,
the Rites of His Magic, like wine;
I call Him across the dark water,
Come swiftly, I claim what is mine...
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The Place of my Lover is Autumn,
He waits on the Rim of the Year;
As I pace down the days toward Him,
I pray that October is near.
Come swiftly, I claim what is mine.
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