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I hear the birds come greet me in my morning |
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They sing the songs of love in tongues of ages past. |
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And all the while a vision is unfolding, |
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The Moorhen pipes at me, "don't sleep the day away". |
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And so with cautious steps I tread |
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A measured path through vale and rook, |
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And many signs you'd want to take me with you. |
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And I go down to the Landing. |
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Heron's Flood flows on storm-clothed |
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As the harbour lights guide the wanderers home. |
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I see the sun come greet me in his dawning, |
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He holds the seed of life within his aged hands. |
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And, in the sky, a vast procession streaming, |
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Royal banners held aloft to mark the halcyon time. |
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And so I walk in meadows below, |
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Amongst the springs and weevil-gall, |
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In myriad throngs the grass will take me with you. |
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And I climb up to the Hawk's Throne, |
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Cragshorn lies at Umbrian |
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And the marram-slopes span the sapient sky. |
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I feel the night come bidding me his greeting, |
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He draws a glowing veil upon a sleepy world. |
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And in the sky the stars roll through the heavens, |
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Below, the new-hatched dove stares wondrously above. |
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And so to Esma I am come |
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To forge a passageway through time |
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And all, too soon, you'd come to take me with you. |
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And I strike north to the veld-plains, |
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Dorn Ridge melts in snow-gold. |
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As the Moorhen |
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Pipes the pinkery moon. |
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Birdsong, so sweetly, hear them calling you. |
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Birdsong, so sweetly, hear them calling you. |