*

Unguarded castle, zenith’s tower –

I tread the long roads towards the skies.

Upon her couch of mist she lies,

My elf-blood one, where cold clouds lour.

 

The centipede on corpses sucks;

Now towards the west, winds blow the moon.

On rotten gardens’ gamy fruits

Fat earwigs and the spiders sup.

 

The morning sees the orchards grey,

And sun and clouds are swept along

That same high road where moon hath gone:

The westward path, a dismal way.

 

No more, sweet strains which were my wont;

And birds this silence shan’t repair.

A mourning garb my garden wears –

The alder’s old, the rowan’s gaunt.

 

If ’til the doom of fire and flood

I must walk on, such shall I do.

The castle floats, e’er out of view;

It reddens in the evening’s blood. 

 

Now life and world are but a husk

That’s scattered ’cross the rushing sky.

I set my songs and strings aside –

I tread the long roads towards the dusk.

*