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of The Wand And The Moon

She With Whom Compar`d The Alpes Are Val

  neofolk  dark folk  apocalyptic folk  folk  ambient
261 3 часа назад

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I wish to fire the trees af all these forrestI give the Sunne a last farewell each eveningI curse the fidling finders out of MusickeWith envie i doo hate the loftie mountainsAnd with despite despise the humble valliesI doo detest night, evening, day, and morningFor she, whose parts maintainde a perfect musiqueWhose beawties shin`de more then the blushing morningWho much did passe in state the stately mountainsIn straightnes past the Cedars of the forestHath cast me wretch into eternally eveningBy taking her two Sunnes from these darke valliesCurse to my selfe my prayers is, the morningMy fire is more, then can be made with forrestsMy state more base, then are the basest valliesI wish no evenings more to see, each eveningShamed I hate my selfe in sight of mountainesAnd stoppe mine ears, lest I growe mad with MusickeFor she, with whorm compar`d, the Alpes are valliesShe, whose lest word brings from the spheares their musiqueAt whose approach the Sunne rase in the eveningWho, where she went, bare in her forhead morningIs gone, is gone from these our spolyed forrestsTurning to desarts our best pastur`de mountaines[Adapted from Sir Philip Sidneys: "The Countesse of pembrokes arcadia (1598)"]

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