And now I wander in the woods
When summer gluts the golden bees, Or in autumnal solitudes Arise the leopard-coloured trees; Or when along the wintry strands The cormorants shiver on their rocks; I wander on and wave my hands, And sing, and shake my heavy locks. The gray wolf knows me; by one ear I lead along the woodland deer; The hares run by me growing bold. They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old. ~excerpt from the Madness of King Goll
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