Mire

Poem by Raymond, Music by Theatre of Tragedy Harken! - teh clouds musteréd in dark - So painfully easing. Hush! - hearest ye the yew doting; Its years of yore in a 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 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.