Harken! - the clouds mustered in dark -
|
So painfully easing.
|
Hush! - hearest ye the yew doting;
|
Its years of yore in a mire,
|
Each like a corpse within its grave;
|
Wrought for us a yearn of lief;
|
Tis not a lore of bale nor loathe;
|
Harmony and aesthesia are its blisses;
|
Ne'er ere hath it exist'd so sonorously -
|
Jostl'd away the pale drape
|
That us had been o'erhung -
|
Tempt'd thy shutters to open
|
And thus quench'd the hearth;
|
Thou giv'st to misery all thou hast: the cold -
|
With weal embrac'd the sprounting landscape
|
Like a star of heaven in the broad daylight -
|
This joy subdueth until it again waneth,
|
Save the drooping winter of stalwart.
|
|
-----------------
|
Mire
|
Theatre Of Tragedy |