No More Learning

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All the way the Death-steed with tolling hoofs shall travel,
Ashen-grey the planets shall be           as stones,
Loosely shall the systems eject their parts coaeval,
Stagnant in the spaces shall float the pallid moons:
Suns that touch their apogees, reeling from their level,
Shall run back on their axles, in wild low broken tunes.