Beyond the hills there lies a wood.
Of trees of old, I speak with truth.
There I now wander, not on my own.
Through a land, for many yet unknown.
My heart lies with her, she, mistress of the wood.
For she is a pure radiation of peace and youth.
Her hair in such beauty, chestnut brown,
her green eyes that shine under her frown.
It is not like me to desire to one.
Yet I feel so, it must be wrong.
I have lived a life full of lies.
But if she looks at me with those eyes..
Aswell speaks with that voice, fair and wise..
More wonderful than.. the first sunrise.
To hear that voice, so calm and with delight,
She is what she is, a beautiful sight.
Yet.. she cannot return that what I feel.
This must be a dream, this cannot be real!
Yes, it is like me to lie to myself,
And curse the day I ever laid my eyes..
…Upon her smile…
