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Thro' their veils of golden gauze,
As they glide and bend and beckon,
As they wheel and wind and pause.
The voices of lutes and cymbals
Fail on the failing breeze,
And the midnight's soul grows weary
With the scent of the champak trees;
But the subtle feet of the dancers
In a long, returning chain,
Wake in the heart of lovers
Love's ecstasy and pain.
22
