Where the stars sleep in the calm black stream,
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Like some great lily, pale Ophelia floats,
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Slowly floats, wound in her veils like a dream.
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Half heard in the woods, halloos from distant throats.
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A thousand years has sad Ophelia gone
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Glimmering on the water, a phantom fair:
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A thousand years her soft distracted song
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Has waked the answering evening air.
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Black Stream
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Dead Can Dance |