Summer Coming In
Someday
when the world is old and broken,
and you and I awake
in the grass among the ruins,
we'll rise and walk our way,
and tell old tales of elves and men,
and, still dreaming of the past,
we'll watch the summer coming in.
Somewhere
beyond the world's most distant shore,
we'll build a city new
whose gates shall shine forevermore.
We'll settle there in peace,
and tell old tales of elves and men,
and, resting in content,
we'll watch the summer coming in.
Somehow
we'll see all things that eyes can see,
and sail upon the calm
of some dark infinity;
though mortal loves all fail,
we'll tell old tales of elves and men,
from them learn to love anew,
and watch the summer coming in.
Interweaving
Cast, if you will, the silver star upon the sea;
the darkness and the deep is boiling inside me;
sing, if you wish, of the sun and the light,
but I find only silence and my eyes are without sight.
Where is the path to the glory of dawn?
Not in the lands where the sunstar has shone.
Down in the hedges, the witches cast spells;
in cottages women sew charms against hells.
Light with the darkness, and night with the day,
in a strange ring-a-rosie are busy with play.
That interweaves with a little of this,
and misery kisses its cousin named bliss;
such is the way in the lunatic realm,
though brighter than light is eternity's calm.
