Theatre Of Tragedy

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 жsthesia are its blisses;
Ne'er ere hath it exist'd so sonorously –
Jostl'd away the pale drape