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"No moon is there, no voice, no sound
Of beating heart; a sigh profound

Once in each age as each age dies
Alone is heard. Far, far it lies,

The Land of Waiting where the Dead sit, In their thought's shadow, by no moon lit

Upon the plain, there rushed forth and high
Shadows at dead end of night and mirrored in the skies

Far far away beyond might of day
And there lay the land of dead of mortal cold decay"