Walking through forests of despair
With a solemn breeze in the air,
Swaying trees with glittering leaves
Echo how I was deceived.
But as I admire these towering kings
With emerald coats of shimmering green
And finely crafted coats of mail
So finally woven it makes one pale.
I notice here my cold solitude
And remember a cheek’s rosy hue;
What warm mirth and glee did I know then
And what anguish now! what tears, what dread!
I long for those innocent times
When faith was pure, and hearts were blind.
My back against these silent watchers
Which now support me without complaint,
I think underneath this bough.
No rumour, murmur, or sound!
Just the restless rustling above;
No crawling creature, no naïve dove;
Alone with my restless thoughts
Until I come to find what I have lost:
A peace apart from all these lies;
For now, I am left with lonely sighs.