Do you remember the moon-lit,
Ivory gardens we once walked,
The secret realms we fashioned,
Like gods long forgotten?

Do you remember the scented,
Star-pinioned night, that was ours alone,
And the iris-pouring moon,
That whispered words arcane?

We are but spectres in this haggard
And marble realm
Fading shapes in the moon's uncertain light
We are but whispers in the babel of voices,
The last echoes of a long-dead world

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