meagre trees in the shrouds as old as the stones mourners of abandon d love forever their woes shall grow silent o how many times may the moon has shone reflected in these black lakes should it be that can hear the woes of those who ceased their lifes o so old they are they bare the neverending grief age old miserability ancient bitter beauty lost is the hope of those who walk the moors with pain in heart and all joy it sinks burried deep forever presumed dead o so old they are they bare the neverending grief age old miserability a bitter beauty thrilling me