In Habbanan, beneath the skies, where all roads end, however long
There is a sound of faint echoes 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
And all about is night

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 wandering smoke
Obscuring with its veil half-seen
The great abysmal still serene

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
And caught the meteors' fiery rain
Such there is night
Such there is night

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 wandering smoke
Obscuring with its veil half-seen
The great abysmal still serene

And caught the meteors' fiery rain

If I am dead and gone, would you remain?