Behold, the house of starless sky

Thread the needle through the eye

Of the storm that ever breaks

On windy shores of I’hy’s lakes

—Stands the dome of vanta


And if the suture be not torn

And if the will be sure of form

The seeker may then pass the fjord

To hear the whispers of its lord

—In the dome of vanta


He is the wind beneath the lake

He is the storm that endless breaks

He is the iron, in the ore

He is the key—and you, the door

—To the dome of vanta



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