To this world I was welcomed by a cry but with joy
I cry when happy but laugh when sad
The closer I get to my goals, the further I get from the goal
Is this the happy or the sad cycle of life? ...
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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