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Picture that world now less free and less wild:
A mother sings songs long forgotten to a lonely faery child.
In groves, the ancient elves still chant their solemn tuneless words.
A maiden turns and listens to the silence of the birds.
There is no more fiery beauty, in the land of man's first fear.
The elven queen bedazzles no more mortal prisoners here.
A unicorn stands beneath it, as the magic tree's leaves fall.
The dragon speaks no poetry, none hears the siren's call.
The gryphon and the serpent, the pixie and the worm,
All pale before the silence; they know it is their doom.
In the dark, enchanted forest, where they danced in faery rings,
Their treasures all were stolen, now not one of them still sings.
In their immortal memories, they know the glory that has been,
But the quiet of desertion seeps through every dale and fen.
The shining silver stars fall on the embers of their fires.
They make a gentle music, faery pipes and faery lyres.
The wind calls out, so softly, "Is there anyone still here?"
But Faery knows the end that's lain in wait so many years.
As their magic fades to shadows, they lose everlasting life,
And walking through the darkness, human travelers feel safe.