Heaven's a blue so clear its ringing
ice bells, chimes in branches clinging.
We've come for diamonds in drifts a' winking
and a glimpse of the moon, low it's sinking
o'er the eve of the world's last turning, or
perhaps it's first and brightest morning.
We are hailed by seven spirits singing
hallelujahs, or the final warning.
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Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words
