The Triad of Things Not Decreed
Happy the stark bare wood on the hill of Bree!
To its grey branch, green of the May: song after sigh:
Laughter of wings where the wind went with a cry
My sorrow! Song after sigh comes not to me.
Happy the dry wide pastures by Ahenree!
To them, in the speckled twilight, dew after drouth:
White clover, a fragrance in the dumb beast's mouth.
My sorrow! Dew after drouth comes not to me.
Happy Oilean Acla in the ample sea!
To its yellow shore, long-billowed flood after ebb:
Flash of the fish, silver in the sloak weeds' web,
My sorrow! Flood after ebb comes not to me.
To its grey branch, green of the May: song after sigh:
Laughter of wings where the wind went with a cry
My sorrow! Song after sigh comes not to me.
Happy the dry wide pastures by Ahenree!
To them, in the speckled twilight, dew after drouth:
White clover, a fragrance in the dumb beast's mouth.
My sorrow! Dew after drouth comes not to me.
Happy Oilean Acla in the ample sea!
To its yellow shore, long-billowed flood after ebb:
Flash of the fish, silver in the sloak weeds' web,
My sorrow! Flood after ebb comes not to me.
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