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MÔre
Theatre of Tragedy
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🇬🇧 English · Original
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Harken
The clouds mustered in dark
So painfully easing
Hush, hearest ye the yew doting
Its years of yore in a mire
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 existed so sonorously
Jostled away the pale drape
That us had been overhung
Tempted thy shutters to open
And thus quenched the hearth
Thou givest to misery all thou hast, the cold
With weal embraced 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