In Habbanan, beneath the skies, where all roads end, however long There is a sound of faint echoes and distant echoes of a song For there men gather into rings round their red fires While one voice sings and all about is night And all about is night Not night as ours, unhappy folk Where nigh the Earth in hazy bars A mist about the springing of the stars There trails a thin and wandering smoke Obscuring with its veil half-seen The great abysmal still serene A globe of dark glass faceted with light Wherein the splendid winds have dusky flight Untrodden spaces of an odorous plain That watches for the moon that long has lain And caught the meteors' fiery rain Such there is night Such there is night Not night as ours, unhappy folk Where nigh the Earth in hazy bars A mist about the springing of the stars There trails a thin and wandering smoke Obscuring with its veil half-seen The great abysmal still serene And caught the meteors' fiery rain If I am dead and gone, would you remain?