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The Northern Dipper has turned round in the sky,
And now hangs over the west tower.
In the Golden House there are none
Save the fireflies sailing the gloom,
While the moonlight falls
Into the Palace of Long Gate,
And deepens still more the sorrow of one in the secret bower.


The glad spring goes unattended
At the laurel bower where sorrow is long;
But on the four walls of gold
The autumn dust clings like grief;
And night holds the bright mirror up in the emerald sky
For the lonely one in the Palace of Long Gate.