Mire

Harken

The clouds mustered in dark

So painfully easing

Hush hearest ye the yew doting

It's years of yore in a mire

Each like a corpse within it's grave

Wrought for us a yearn of leaf

'Tis not a lore of bale nor loathe and

Harmony and esthesia

Are it's blisses

Ne'er ere hath

It existed so sonorously

Just along the way the pale drape

That us had been o'erhung

Tempted thy shutters to open

And thus quenched the hearth

Thou giv'st to misery all thou hast

The cold

Cold

Cold

Cold

With weal embraced 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