by Eugene Lee-Hamilton
I ask the woods and waters where thou art;
And oft it seems as if the fir and beech
Tried, in their unintelligible speech,
To tell the secret they would fain impart.
Against what bars swells up thy lion's heart,
I ask of the deep Danube, and of each
Swift stream it gathers; but their answers reach
My dull brain not: and on they roll and dart.
The world forsakes thee, Richard, O my king;
But he who loves thee, he who strives to find
Where thou art dungeoned, he can only sing:
And so I mix my singing with the wind,
Which round each castle's bars is uttering
Its story to the wretch who sits behind.
Last updated January 14, 2019