The dim-winged spirits of the night Do fear and serve me well. They creep from out the hedges of The garden where I dwell. I wave my arms across the walk. The troops obey the sign, And bring me shimmering shadow-robes And cups of cowslip-wine. Then dig a treasure called the moon, A very precious thing, And keep it in the air for me Because I am a King.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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