Theatre Of Tragedy - Mre
Harken! - The Clouds Musterd In Dark -
So Painfully Easing.
Hush! - Hearest Ye The Yew Doting;
Its Years Of Yore In A Mre,
Each Like A Corpse Within Its Grave;
Wrought For Us A Yearn Of Lief;
'tis Not A Lore Of Bale Nor Loathe;
Harmony And Sthesia 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 Quenched 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.
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