Текст Theatre Of Tragedy – Mïre

Each like a corpse within its grave
Wrought for us a yearn of lief
Tis not a lore of bale nor loathe
Harmony and aesthesia are its blisses
Ne’er ere hath it exist’d so sonorously
Jostl’d away the pale drape
That us had been o’erhung
Tempt’d thy shutters to open
And thus quench’d the hearth
Thou giv’st to misery all thou hast, the cold
With weal embrac’d 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