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58 THE GOLDEN GARDEN OF CUZCO In the garden of the Inca, In the Sungod’s dying rays, Made of beaten gold and planted, Stood the shining stalks of maize— Stood the shepherds with their llamas, Golden boys and golden brutes; Stood the field of golden grasses, Golden vineyards, argent fruits; Stood the vinetree of the roses, Growing rootless, made of gold, In the garden of the Inca— But the light was turning cold, And the soldiers of Pizzaro, Just before that day was done— Stopped to rest—and raped the virgins In the temple of the sun. ...

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