Even here the glimmering simbelmyne grows
in the ghostly pale green meads and haunted hollows
far from the hallows somber in their ordered rows
where our old bones the cold earth slowly swallows.
Of certainty indeed no living person knows
and none but guess what after long life follows
yet, even here the glimmering simbelyne grows
in the ghostly pale green meads and haunted hollows.
Ages pass, and generations–so life ever flows,
sire and son, one after the other follows…
Echoing faint, hooves thunder out of meads and hollows…
The Dead also remember, in our long repose:
Even here, the glimmering symbelmyne grows.