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 That garden where a dying queen Might listen all night to a ghost's foot-fall, If you had seen that old parterre Of roses red with forbidden passion You would know too well why I wander there, Too well why my dreams are out of fashion! Oh, their classic skies are blue and white. But grey upon grey is best; And to follow the rain is my delight And the wild swans in their long, long flight Into the night — into the night — To that garden of the West.