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narrow streets cut into the wide highway at Choan, Dark oxen, white horses, drag on the seven coaches with outriders. The coaches are perfumed wood, The jewelled chair is held up at the crossway, Before the royal lodge a glitter of golden saddles, awaiting the princess, They eddy before the gate of the barons. The canopy embroidered with dragons drinks in and casts back the sun.

Evening comes. The trappings are bordered with mist. The hundred cords of mist are spread through and double the trees, Night birds, and night women, spread out their sounds through the gardens.