That one feeling that you feel sad but you can't cry,
That one feeling that you are losing yourself,
But... you just can't talk about it,
You feel like you're losing yourself but you can't help it ...
Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
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