I cry to the mountains; I cry to the sea—
I cry to the forest to cover me
From the terror of the invisible throng
With marching feet the whole day long—
The whole night long,
Beating the accent of their wrong.
We whom the Dead have not forgiven
Must hear forever that ominous beat,
For the free, light, rippled air of heaven
Is burdened now with dead men's feet:
Feet that make solid the fluid space,
Feet that make weary the tireless wind,
Feet that leave grime on the moon's white face—
Black is the moon for us who have sinned!
And the mountains will not cover us,
Nor yet the forest nor the sea;
No storm of human restlessness
Can wake the tide or bend the tree.
Forever and ever until we die,
Through the once sweet air and the once blue sky
The thud of feet—the invisible throng,
Beating the accent of their wrong.
I cry to the mountains; I cry to the sea—
I cry to the forest to cover me
From the terror of the invisible throng
With marching feet the whole day long—
The whole night long,
Beating the accent of their wrong.
We whom the Dead have not forgiven
Must hear forever that ominous beat,
For the free, light, rippled air of heaven
Is burdened now with dead men's feet:
Feet that make solid the fluid space,
Feet that make weary the tireless wind,
Feet that leave grime on the moon's white face—
Black is the moon for us who have sinned!
And the mountains will not cover us,
Nor yet the forest nor the sea;
No storm of human restlessness
Can wake the tide or bend the tree.
Forever and ever until we die,
Through the once sweet air and the once blue sky
The thud of feet—the invisible throng,
Beating the accent of their wrong.
I cry to the forest to cover me
From the terror of the invisible throng
With marching feet the whole day long—
The whole night long,
Beating the accent of their wrong.
We whom the Dead have not forgiven
Must hear forever that ominous beat,
For the free, light, rippled air of heaven
Is burdened now with dead men's feet:
Feet that make solid the fluid space,
Feet that make weary the tireless wind,
Feet that leave grime on the moon's white face—
Black is the moon for us who have sinned!
And the mountains will not cover us,
Nor yet the forest nor the sea;
No storm of human restlessness
Can wake the tide or bend the tree.
Forever and ever until we die,
Through the once sweet air and the once blue sky
The thud of feet—the invisible throng,
Beating the accent of their wrong.
I cry to the mountains; I cry to the sea—
I cry to the forest to cover me
From the terror of the invisible throng
With marching feet the whole day long—
The whole night long,
Beating the accent of their wrong.
We whom the Dead have not forgiven
Must hear forever that ominous beat,
For the free, light, rippled air of heaven
Is burdened now with dead men's feet:
Feet that make solid the fluid space,
Feet that make weary the tireless wind,
Feet that leave grime on the moon's white face—
Black is the moon for us who have sinned!
And the mountains will not cover us,
Nor yet the forest nor the sea;
No storm of human restlessness
Can wake the tide or bend the tree.
Forever and ever until we die,
Through the once sweet air and the once blue sky
The thud of feet—the invisible throng,
Beating the accent of their wrong.