Mire — текст песни (Theatre Of Tragedy)

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.