Where forest stream went through the wood
And silent all the stands there stood
Of tall trees, moveless, hanging dark
With mottled shadows on their bark
No moon is there, no voice, no sound
Of beating heart; a sight profound
Once in each age as each age dies
Alone is heard. Far, far it lies,
As each age dies
As faint as deepest sleeper's breath
An echo came as cold as death
Long are the paths, of shadow made
Where no foot print is ever laid
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 dead of mortal cold decay
