Starmere shining silver bright,
Across long watches of the night,
Countless gems of purest light,
Sunk still ‘neath sea, lost save by sight.
Star-near hanging nigh and low,
O’er looming hill of wound and woe.
Soft sweet songs of birds drift slow
near shore, notes none other now know.
Star-clear cold, as dreamless sleep,
Rolls over darkened fathoms deep.
Wand’rers rest by slopes so steep,
Quietly they speak, quick secrets keep.
Far-mere distant, free from care,
Where speech and scent remain in air,
Memory lost yet lingers there,
Found then through fortune fleeting fair.
Starmere gleaming in the gloom,
Its stony shores still as the tomb,
Dawn breaks as the blossoms bloom,
Starmere’s secrets spell sweet his doom.
