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THE SONG OF THE SWORD
PRELUDE
IN the ineffable days when from the summits of morning,Through the extravagant noon, down to the murmurous eve, Lands of the plenteous vine lay in their vernal adorning, Robed in immutable calm, God's everlasting reprieve.
Lands of imperial sun, lands of enduring fruition, Lands where abundant the wine perfumed the madness of youth, Lands where the women and men flamed in the vernal ignition, Gained through the shadows of sense rays from the ultimate truth.