Idril
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The Walled Garden


Notes

Gentle listener, this is a tale of the heartsick singer outside the walls of the hortus conclusus.

In there my lady picks primeroles and lilyflowers, her heart a blooming rose.

But my heart sits in a cage of bone, a lark that cannot fly to peck its rose's nectar.

I am so beset with sorrow that I must vow to leave off singing, for if she will not hear me, then my songs are but air.

...And yet, wretched as I am, I hesitate to cease my songs.
For they are air that tastes of her.


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13 comments on The Walled Garden (View all)


dark listening times indeed Idril. if only people looked and craved for beauty in the world rather than just trying to fit in.

 
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