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To wake upon a bed of silken moss,
To see the faeries dance about and play,
To watch the moon put frost upon the leaves,
It glitters far away on blades of grass.

To be thus wakened is enchantment true,
To feel the spells of old upon my heart,
To view the swampfire writhe and glow and spark,
Night cloaks a world today grown tired and ill.

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