  An ominous bird sang from its branch, 'Beware, O Wanderer! Night 'mid her flowers of glamourie spilled Draws swiftly near: 'Night with her darkened caravans, Piled deep with silver and myrrh, Draws from the portals of the East, O Wanderer near! 'Night who walks plumÈd through the fields Of stars that strangely stir— Smitten to fire by the sandals of him Who walks with her.' |
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