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Download the free e-book (pdf) - Bruno Massé

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Aye, haunted groves didst trick our treats<br />

Witless wretches starkly spoil’d our feats<br />

For aught, say I, for all nightmares we dare<br />

hound!<br />

And chase away, being darker than <strong>the</strong>y!<br />

Ghosts to wilt ‘ere we halt , and still<br />

Thou shalt have peace, O my beautiful, black<br />

rose<br />

When <strong>the</strong>e alone again shalt be, remember<br />

Drifting snows and a full moon in splendor<br />

Icy leys ‘twixt she held her sway<br />

And fro slanting rays, argent chose,<br />

Solace in thy gaze, O my blackened rose<br />

34

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