Groza IV

The valley of judg'ment. The forest of olde
Where'd come the dread presence, so knowne afore?

Thou, who hath risen the oracle of lyes
Hast thou witnes'd a shepherd feed on his flocke?

The virtues of loss. The hymnes of decay
Dost thou have faith now, o dearest friend?

And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar
Or dost thou doubt Lie in thy promythian rage?

Whence came thine yoke of grande tradition
Hast thou not seen the structure clear?

A quenchlesse fire, a nest of trembling feare
A path that leads to perill, sorrow and despaire

Alas, 'tis the world without end