Fair deep the darkness strung about the bole of every tree;
No song of bird nor sign of bloom, no sound of humming bee.
The memories long, they know you were a place both fair and bright,
There was a morning for your world before this fall of night,
Yet now the darkness hangs with dread, sleep-sickness fills your streams,
And dark the ways and dark the tower that haunts your forest-dreams.
Within this wood no sunlight glints, no wind sighs passing flight -
Entombed you lie within a shroud of malice woven tight.

Poisoned wood, when will you know the days’ clean living light?
Not ‘til the tower is overthrown and darkness put to flight.

- Primula