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Out of my lodge at eventide,
'Mong the sobbing pine,
Footsteps echo by my side,
A spirit face, a sign.
Twilight skies are all alight
Across the deep lagoon.
A face is breaking through the night,
My Indian maid, Pale Moon.
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Speak to thy love forsaken,
Thy spirit mantle throw.
'Ere thou the great white dawn awaken
And to the sea thou swingest low,
Then to the west,
I'll follow across the deep lagoon,
Swift as a flying arrow,
To thy abode, Pale Moon.
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