As watchers couched beneath a Bantine oak, Hearing the dawn-wind stir, Know that the present strength of night is broke Though no dawn threaten her Till dawn's appointed hour - so Virgil died, Aware of change at hand, and prophesied Change upon all the Eternal Gods had made And on the Gods alike - Fated as dawn but, as the dawn, delayed Till the just hour should strike - A Star new-risen above the living and dead; And the lost shades that were our loves restored As lovers, and for ever. So he said; Having received the word... Maecenas waits me on the Esquiline: Thither to-night go I.... And shall this dawn restore us, Virgil mine To dawn? Beneath what sky?
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