Текст Theatre Of Tragedy – Cheerful Dirge

Hap mirthfulness! — Oh! joy of grand riddance
Undress me my hauberk! — the wyern hath errant’d

Ire of yore — bard of e’eryears
I deem the brood hath wan’d fore’ermore?

Fro the chasm of the bosom, bale a hand back
Hark! my dove — henceforth I bulwark thee
Teathers of swans in my pillow — I cede my heart
Make haste! — I pray — respond my plea

Lo! — a sire of great awe — a knight of many battles

…And of kinsmen weeping for the slain
Please! — heed my words
In thy sorrow I will kiss thy tears
In thy bliss I will take thee by thy hand
The sapor of grapes thou shalt savor
And harken the nightingale sing oh so blithely

On his knees… A plea to harvest roses
No heed for the thorns you count
Wherefore vow me?
Wherefore this gilded proffer?
Wherefore not pay court to a maid more fair?
Morn of a joyous day! Hower ‘twixt weed
Fertile desert! Cheerful dirge
Misery me not! — man nor beast, envy me
Lest’tis an act of wont
Many are the drapes that my past bury
Ineffable feeling indulgeth in battles

Tisn’t what thou vambrace’st thy words with
I bethink dotingly only thy weal
Forgive me for deeming thee direfully
Therein abdiding with thee