I follow the shadows of sorrow
That press so close to the dancing heels of the day
And darken the morrow.
The world turns pale and cold, for I seem to see
Beyond its golden visor
The leering skull that derides at our lives and me
Being older than life and wiser....
I hear the cry of the world that writhes to the lash of the whip
Beyond the sound of the treetops singing
To the wind's persuasive violins and bells of dews that drip,