Why dost Thou build the Dome in gleam,
The Son of winged and windy Days?
Dost Thou believe in false, in dream,
And wast in want Thou quiet place?

Thou lookest from donjon sadly now,
Not many years will pass away,
Becometh such tired Thine light brow,
In courtyard wind will be pray.

With poer new he will infly,
With mask of sorrow on the face,
Where wast Thou – will be just his cry,
He will erase abandoned trace.

We all are Knights, are all Pilgrims,
Of misted and mistaken Fate,
That lost the Truth in falsefull gleams,
With Heartes brave and Mindes great.

This world 's so madd and fool for us,
Call us the dear Tir inna n-Oc,
Where live the Ghostes of the past,
That all veritable, not mock.

Why dost Thou build the Dome in gleam,
The Son of winged and windy Days,
Dost Thou believe in false, in dream,
And wast in want Thou quite place?