O, Winged Herald Beneth The Tree
O’ winged herald, hence, over the hills afar, What sees you in this visage, wan and deep? A barren field, where joy's radiant fading star Leaves only shadows, where dark sorrows sleep. The dust of pain does cloak my weary way, A heavy heart, and a burden hard to bear, No soul can know depths, where sorrows weigh Nor find repose, nor ease this dark despair. A tale unsung, a grief beyond all the art, Mine errors known, a melancholy’s plea, If none does whisper, then folly tears apart, Your songs of joy bring naught but grief to me. Depart, sweet bird, leave me to fate's decree, Beneath this tree, where solace waits for me ©Affaq