From the deepest valleys to the highest mountain peaks which the sun caress with care.
Carpathia! All hail to thee!
Thy beauty is beyond compare…
When the soft white shrouds of morning dew lay down on the meadows green,
Thy prais is due, but keep thy poetry for the night you haven’t seen
For when the sun doth set in Carpathia…
And the worm that gnaws the grave, crawls hence forth from gulf and cave
And when the moon doth rise in Carpathia…
Then the creature leaves the lair and the ghost is on the stair
For there is no such beauty in the morning light
Nor in the later hours of day
As when darkness fell in the deep pine woods
And the wolves go hunt their prey!
Ah, you should hear the sweet sullen song
Of the nightbirds call to the moon
And the glorious howling sound of the wind
In the wastes and all places marooned