not bloodshed, nor ills we engender,
could yet fling a mantle of gloom
on the heavenly palace of splendour,
or on earth with the lure of its bloom.
as of old, we are tenderly ravished
by valleys and blossoms and rills;
unchanging, the starlight is lavished,
and the tune that the nightingale trills.
great forests with deep-hidden spaces
know naught of our spirit's dismay;
and never a wrinkle defaces
the heaven's clear azure array.
wc toyhouse @lepiota
alt toyhouse @wyrrmwood
pixel @ nopeita (da)
fullbody @ forager (th)
chibi @ monday (th)