In Dead Man’s Wood The rustling trees Shiver, shudder In the breeze. The bird-song drips On Dead Man’s Wood Trickles through Like falling blood. And if the sun Gives forth its light, The yellow glory Turns ash-white. The dark tall trees, When day is past, Draw back their leaves, Pale and aghast. When rusty shadows Fall at dusk, Surely the spirit Leaves its husk? All night, all day, Within this cover, I sit and wait For my dead lover.
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