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Somewhere where the sun is walking, where the flaming sunset. Somewhere there gray pines are looking at the blue sky, the wind walks like a tramp, wanders in the field day and night, drives sadness, fatigue out of the sleepless soul away. And a little later, like a queen, noble and proud, a bland-faced moon floats from the horizon, rising slowly to the midnight pedestal, illuminates the magical edge like a magic crystal
