Dark is the forest and deep, and
Hang stars like seeds of
In vain, though not since they were sown was
Anything more bright.
And evermore mighty multitudes
About, nor enter in;
Of the other multitudes that dwell
Never yet was one seen.
The forest foxglove is purple, the
Outside is gold and white,
Nor can those that pluck either blossom
The others, day or night.
