When morning cast the stars aside And the chill of night had all but died As sleep removed its blanket pall From the waking eyes of all The poet stretched his limbs and dressed And wandered out to see the blessed Grove and mound, but with a sound Of water that was not there before…
A singing stream had grown overnight Centuries old, with smooth stones covered in moss The path to the grove is overtaken Its source bubbles up from under the earth From the seed…
The poet drank sweet water from a cupped hands chalice He was baptized at the stream by a mourning dove All the loveliness in the world was in her All the sadness flowed out into the forest and into thin air Mist-wrapped trees, the tattered shrouds of night, as she Beckoned downstream
Nothing but death, the ageless kiss of the queen The most beautiful thing is the deathless unseen
No end to the miraculous waters that stream forth from the earth And the stream grew into the blue royalty of a river The cascades that tumble away like lives into the æther Surged forth ceaseless like wasted time
As the moon grew fat with days The river widened and wove its way Deeper into the mist and the trees As an unfinished rhyme, as a grief-laden breezeTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
