I so want to immerse myself in soft velvet memories to
Cushion the jaggedness of present truths unwanted
Alas I fear my heart just will not stand the trip whole
I Mourn more than souls tonight I mourn existence ...
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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