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"No, no," we said, "not so," we said,
"Our ways are not together;
We'll take the road and go," we said
"Stay you and watch the weather."
My nag was fed by fairy hands,
She drank from Chibbyr-Garvel
And in a trice she leapt aloft
And left the bones to marvel.
The mist came floating round again
With songs and laughter ringing—
And there we were on Bearey slopes
Where morning larks were singing.
