| In Habbanan beneath the skies
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| Where all roads end however long
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| There is a sound of faint echoes
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| And distant echoes of a song,
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| For there men gather into rings
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| Round their red fires while one voice sings —
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| And all about is night
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| Not night as ours, unhappy folk,
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| Where nigh the Earth in hazy bars,
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| A mist about the springing of the stars,
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| There trails a thin and wandering smoke
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| Obscuring with it’s veil half-seen
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| The great abysmal still Serene.
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| A globe of dark glass faceted with light
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| Wherein the splendid winds have dusky flight;
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| Untrodden spaces of an odorous plain
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| That watches for the moon that long has lain
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| And caught the meteors' fiery rain —
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| Such there is night.
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| …and caught the meteors' fiery rain
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| If I am dead and gone, would you remain |