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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408420" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Song of Arda: (From “Annatanam”.)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">LOW as a lute, my love, beneath the call<br>Of storm, I hear a melancholy wind;<br>The memorably mournful wind of yore<br>Which is the very brother of the one<br>That wanders, like a hermit, by the mound<br>Of Death, in lone Annatanam. A song<br>Was shaped for this, what time we heard outside<br>The gentle falling of the faded leaf<br>In quiet noons: a song whose theme doth turn<br>On gaps of Ruin and the gay-green clifts<br>Beneath the summits haunted by the moon.<br>Yea, much it travels to the dens of dole;<br>And in the midst of this strange rhyme, my lords,<br>Our Desolation like a phantom sits<br>With wasted cheeks and eyes that cannot weep<br>And fastened lips crampt up in marvellous pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A song in whose voice is the voice of the foam<br>And the rhyme of the wintering wave,<br>And the tongue of the things that eternally roam<br>In forest, in fell or in cave;<br>But mostly ’tis like to the Wind without home<br>In the glen of a desolate grave—<br>Of a deep and desolate grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The torrent flies over the thunder-struck clift<br>With many and many a call;<br>The leaves are swept down, and a dolorous drift<br>Is hurried away with the fall.<br>But mostly ’tis like the Wind without home<br>In the glen of a desolate grave—<br>Of a deep and desolate grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whoever goes thither by night or by day<br>Must mutter, O Father, to Thee,<br>For the shadows that startle, the sounds that waylay<br>Are heavy to hear and to see;<br>And a step and a moan and a whisper for aye<br>Have made it a sorrow to be—<br>A sorrow of sorrows to be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! cover your faces and shudder, and turn<br>And hide in the dark of your hair,<br>Nor look to the Glen in the Mountains, to learn<br>Of the mystery mouldering there;<br>But rather sit low in the ashes and urn<br>Dead hopes in your mighty despair—<br>In the depths of your mighty despair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408420" data-title="The Song of Arda: (From “Annatanam”.) de Henry Kendall" data-description="LOW as a lute, my love, beneath the call
Of storm, I hear a melancholy wind;
The memorably mournful wind of yore
Which is the very brother of the one
That wanders, like a hermit, by the mound
Of Death, in lone Annatanam. A song
Was shaped for this..."></div>
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