The days of rapture and the nights of peace.
How should I dream that such delight could pass,
Such colour fade, such flowing numbers cease,
My glory perish where was none to save,
And all my strength be trodden in the grass?
ASHALORN: Oh, blest art thou who diest in thy youth;
Oh, blest art thou who failest in thy prime;
While yet thine eyes are full of wondering truth;
Ere yet thy feet have found the ways of thorn.
Too long I wandered down the vale of time,