| And we breathe the air of this autumn evening
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| So bright, the cold breeze fills our hearts with ice
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| And we hear the trees whisper and the spirits sing
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| The perfume to smell is full of enchantment
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| A warm secret surrounded by cold
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| And these woods are our own eternity
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| Under a starry sky in a dream so old
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| Then, nightfall, enthralled by bloodthirst
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| An eternal enigma, yet a hymn to those
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| Who passionately roam, cloaked by the nightsky
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| Come on Bacchants, let us hunt in sigh
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| «Follow the Night-Hag, when call’d in secret
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| Riding through the Air she comes
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| Lur’d with the smell of infant blood, to dance
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| With Lapland Witches, while the labouring Moon
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| Eclipses at their charmes.»
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| Our crimson quickening, whispering through their veins
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| Like the funeral winds whisper through the leaves
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| We will hunt them for eternity, our jewels come forth of their fear
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| And we drink their spirits like wine, celebrating their misery
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| …Every night we die in a passionate melancholy… |