Too Late
The night would steal his love away
across the bridge of the moon.
He knew that it might try one day,
But it has come that bit too soon.
It cut itself a creature,
From its own satanic cloth,
And a rider plucked from Hades
Did bestride this behemoth.
Oh hear the sound
Of pounded ground
Beneath its fissured hooves!
See the craven ravens
Seeking highest high-up havens!
And the dizzy weak-kneed witches
Hiding timidly in ditches.
The bats, the rats,
The mice, the owls,
The creatures that slink through the night;
The foxes and stoats
And blubbering toads,
My, how he puts them to flight!
Evil will fear greater evil,
more than it fears good;
And even the daemons and dusky elves
Risk refuge under the Church’s rood.
Oh hear the churning of crumbling earth,
The turning helpless ravaged turf,
The creaking croaking breaking trees,
The rivers sprinting to the sea,
The children crying,
The weakened dying,
And the distant hiss of burning hope.
My prince, my prince, wake up, wake up!
The gate is opened, the drawbridge down!
Where is your armour, where your sword?
The lady will give you just reward!
The night has stolen his love away
across the bridge of the moon.
He knew that it might try one day,
But it came that bit too soon.
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