through starland that silver sash. What era’s o’ering? Lang gong late. Say long, scielo ! Sillume, see lo! Selene, sail O! Amune! Ark!? Noh?! Nought stirs in spinney. The swayful pathways of the scent and of every living sohole in every past shall full fost sleep. Amain. 473 Lowly, longly, a wail went forth. Pure Yawn lay low. On the cross of your save is the sound- dance and thereinofter you’re in ! And boundin aboundin