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| The primeval forest still lives in my dreams;
in the sleep of my innocent dreams. In the stillness the glint of ebony horn, in green coolness the hunters eye gleams and in the dawn of that ancient morn from the plains that adjunct the trees, The gigantic trumpet of mammoth is carried on that primordial breeze while the ground shakes to thundering force of millions of hooves drumming earth. O man, do your thoughts ever brim with remorse of the passing of those long gone from the land the sounds and the shapes that linger only in dreams of those disappeared since our species birth? |