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Barefoot in the evening dust |
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Ask the bronze girl who she trusts |
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To win the human race for us |
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And does she cry herself to sleep |
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Or will she in the morning speak |
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Of golden dreams and gypsy freaks |
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Who in Pandora's canyon roam |
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A teakwood treasure of her own |
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To light a stately pleasure dome |
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Barefoot in the mountain stream |
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That flows from music Hippocrene |
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We teach the young girl how to sing |
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From father's words and mother's heart |
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The sunrise of a newborn bard |
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The child born into minstrel's art |
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To summer's green and red rock flame |
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Where rubies on horizon hang |
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Inspiration is her name! |
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A coming child of night's delight |
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A Cain to Abel's fury right |
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Midsummer's nameless blessed child |
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A pearl of augury and sage |
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The arrow fixed upon its aim |
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The herald words upon the page |
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The children of this thousandth year |
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Will glide past shadowed valley fear |
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And shed they not a single tear |
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For Avalon approaches here |
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Avalon the path is clear! |