In Habbanan beneath the skies
Where all roads end however long
There is a sound of faint guitars
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
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
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 wandеring smoke
Obscuring with its veil half-seen
The grеat abysmal still Serene
