Where forest stream went through the wood And silent all the stens there stood Of tall trees, moveless, hanging dark With mottled shadows on their bark
As faint as deepest sleeper's breath An echo came as cold as death Long are the paths, of shadow made Where no foot's print is ever laid
No moon is there, no voice, no sound Of beating heart; a sigh profound
Once in each age as each age dies
Alone is heard. Far, far it lies
The Land of Waiting where the Dead sit, In their thought's shadow, by no moon lit
Upon the plain, there rushed forth and high Shadows at dead end of night and mirrored in the sky
Far far away beyond might of day And there lay the land of the dead of mortal cold decayTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.