" Lenore "
He who stands in the tall Grass ,
Amongst the prairies of the wild ...
He , who is tamed , still
By the forest-fires ;
Descending from the ghastly woodlands ,
We hear Him ...
He who never shows his august-self ,
But gloom strange , when Auster departs the marshes ...
He who feeds on moonlight - the old say ;
Conceals Himself ,
In a fallen Abbey ,
Far south the Sawyer's fields - the one norther the moors ;
Maundering beneath the grasslands ,
We hear Him ...
Shhhh....
" His-north is forbidden ...
Ohh , but if there you go , where you never go ,
Whence none but fantom steps parade and eerie lamps blaze .
Where , through the moonless-path and the sombre sky ,
Sleeps a father that never die .
For some will heed the church-bells toll ,
And some will see His dim contours unfold ,
For if you go , and so you know , to the place where none shall ever go ... "
At eves - us play ,
We hide - some seek ,
Run at our mother's calls .
Pray and dine .
Though then , sense we , ferine-eyes wallowing through that mist .
The one-gray-gaze ,
That never descends down the swamp ,
Never abandons the abbey ,
But when at supper , we hear Him ,
Summoning His hounds ,
We hear Him ,
Call our names - in voices that stay ...
The mires , they seem to move forward each passing season - a strange dust settles ...
He , who heirs it ,
Has witnessed these pastures grow two-hundred years ...
He who roams our fields in dark ,
He whose lores cradles our fields in rain ...
We sense Him ,
For He has been here a long-long time - our elders say ...
Shhhh....
" His-north is forbidden ...
Ohh , but if there you go , where you never go ,
Whence none but fantom steps parade and eerie lamps blaze .
Where , through the moonless-path and the sombre sky ,
Sleeps our Father that never die .
For some will heed the church-bells toll ,
And some will see His dim contours unfold ,
For if you go , and so you know , to the place where none shall ever go ... "
Morrow , we gather for our Sunday's prayers inside the marshes ,
Offer we , breads and ballads in olden words ...
Then our fathers hymn ,
Chant His names ,
Omer their first-borns - So silent a ministry .
.
.
Then our prayers halt to an indifferent voice ,
Hear we now , the quaint whispers that rule His great abode .
The world turns gray ...
.
.
" If you go where you never go ... "
.
.
Two-hundred years of sleep awakens ,
The ungodly machine cometh afore ....
.
.
" If you go where you never go ... "
.
.
To that indifferent voice we close our eyes - if you go where all go ....
And then ,
.
.
We see Him ...
.
.
The One who stands behind the tall Grass .....
( Footnote : The title - " Lenore "comes from Edgar Allan Poe's poem - The raven )