Shining tired on the waves
The setting sun;
Its beams, red and bright,
Gently pierce the sea.
Its chariot's descending
The clear western sky;
Night's claiming her right
To rule the world.
Her wings open wide,
Under which we'll mourn and pray,
Will hide our shame;
My dear Guinevere,
In dismal grief we'll find
Full redemption.
A flock of crows,
Approaching noisily,
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Stubbornly croaks
Sober words to me:
'That yearning heart of yours!
You fool! What have you done?
Bringer of d**h,
Your soul's forever lost'.
Her wings open wide,
Under which we'll mourn and pray,
Will hide our shame;
My dear Guinevere,
In dismal grief we'll find
Full redemption.
Night's wings open wide,
Under which we'll mourn and pray,
Will hide our shame;
My dear Guinevere,
In dismal grief we'll find
Full redemption.