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Scriptured in the features of your face, and in the hues of delicate Which painteth thee with the colour of antique gold Throughout dim and narrow lanes, aery surges of cold Bring to mee my Ancestor's voice, whispering mysterious words Tears of white wax many candles shed in solemn quiet As I admire the Romanic stone glowing like ardent embers Beautiful stained-glass windows represent legends of yore Thruh the rosette I behold the crescente moon in the enchanting violet of dusk Shall I question the ancestral stars And the earthly spirit of the mounts Thruh the forest and its tangled boughs Hear the distant echoes of the past... From Letras Mania