The Running Stream

The White Lady of Rohan
Despairing of all hope:
A flower tall and white,
Fair and radiant in the morning,
Standing early-withered but still beautiful
Before the fall.

What is love but murder:
Slaying all other emotions,
Driving at last to madness?
The oncoming wave, sweeping o'er land and sea
A tide tall as mountains looming
Darkness Unescapable.

What then is life, if love should pass?
Darkness, darkness, and reeds sighing by the stream,
And flowers strewn on a mound of grass.
O happy maid, sing while you may!
For weeping at last will come, and life with love
Will pass away.

Then who is Death, that he should be feared?
No madness, no regret, a last long sleep
Lying still and cold on the River Lethe.
Thus flow all rivers at last to the Sea
And all hopes bear, garlanded in flowers,
To a bitter death.