Home of the Dead

Where the forest stream went through the wood
And silent all the stems there stood
Of tall trees, moveless, hanging dark
With mottled shadows on their bark

No moon is there, no voice, no sound
Of beating heart; a sigh profound
Once in each age as each age dies
Alone is heard. Far, far it lies,
As each age dies

No moon is there, no voice, no sound
Of beating heart; a sigh profound
Once in each age as each age dies
Alone is heard. Far, far it lies,
As each age dies

Upon the plain, there rushed forth and high
Shadows at dead end of night and mirrored in the sky
Far, far away beyond might of day
And there lay the land of dead of mortal cold decay

As faint as a deep sleeper's breath
An echo came as cold as death:
Long are the paths, of shadow made
Where no foot's print is ever laid

Upon the plain, there rushed forth and high
Shadows at dead end of night and mirrored in the sky
Far, far away beyond might of day
And there lay the land of dead of mortal cold decay