.    . Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain. Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd. .
                                                         -Oliver Goldsmith : The Deserted Village .    . . The woman-child with the scent of herbs and incense looks up from her song to take note of you. "Have you come to join us? Do you wish to stay? So many pass through our village, but so few remain." A look of lingering sadness passes over her features, shadowed as if by a raven's wing. Within a moment it is gone. "You see, one day, we all fell asleep, and came to be here. With that we began to understand, but there were those who wouldn't listen to us, they kept wishing to wake up. So often you will find my home bereft of any souls at all - but please, join us. Dance, read, and sing with us, for tomorrow may be too late." . .