Compendium of Kaldorei Songs and Poems

Lament to the Moon

SHAELYSSA

Cry out, my heart some heavenly tune
Shining above us, the great Mother Moon;
Guiding our arrows, our swords and our glaives,
As we bring down Her wrath like the coming of waves.

Fear not, the death approaching us now
Hanging down, our looming end from the bough;
Yearning always for Her comforting embrace,
As She guides us through that which we cannot face.

Remember, sweet dew atop the grave of the keeper
Blowing, whisper through the thorn of the sleeper;
Awakening the dreams and the daymares,
As they appear upon His face, the tremulous flares.

Cast away, the glimmering doubt of the past
Tearing away, that which will not last;
Nurturing new stars in the endless sky,
As we grow from what has passed us by.

End, all that which cannot be undone,
Extinguishing, the burning fiery Sun
And dripping down from the pale moonlight,
The hope of new life – just out of sight!

Pied Beauty

GERALD MANLEY HOPKINS

Glory be to Elune for dappled things -
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; flinches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced - fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
She mothers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise Her.

Darnassus

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would she be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the evening; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the flieds, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did the moon more beautifully steep
In her first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear Elune! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains

ANONYMOUS

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven's moon doth gently waste.
But my moon's heavenly eyes
View not your weeping,
That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that peace begets:
Doth not the moon rise smiling
When fair at morn she sets?
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,
Melt not in weeping,
While he lies sleeping,
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

Plea to Malfurion

BOEY KIM CHENG

You should be here, Nature has need of you.
She has been laid waste. Smothered by the smog,
the flowers are mute, and the birds are few
in a sky slowing like a dying clock.
All hopes of Malorne rising from the sea
have sunk; he is entombed in the waste
they dump. Remulos' notes struggle to be free,
his famous horns are choked, his eyes are dazed,
and Cenarius lies helpless as a beached whale,
while insatiate orc moves in for the kill.
Poetry and piety have begun to fail,
as Nature's mighty heart is lying still.
O see the wound widening in the sky,
Elune is labouring to utter her last cry.

Song of Barkless Trees and Flightless Birds

SHAELYSSA

The nightingale flies across the dew-glazed forest,
She dips her wings into the pale moonlight,
And soars to her tree-topped nest
Where she relieves her hatchlings of their lonely fright.

The frosted owl circles through the starry night,
He pierces through the thick canopy,
And lunges for his meal on sight
Where he raises his blood-smeared beak to the sky.

The black sabre stalks into the secluded glade,
She floats into the dark undergrowth,
And howls in pain for cubs mislaid
Where she weeps with clawed paws sprung forth.

The green sickness rages tormentingly into the tranquil land,
It strikes mercilessly with its mighty horned head,
And destroys all that touches the gnarled hand,
Where it laughs mockingly of things unsaid.

The nightingale, the frosted owl and the black sabre,
All lay lowly in the once tranquil land,
Their small lives ever dwindling and waver
About things upon the moon-blanched strand
As we raise up in defence
And at the green sickness – we strike everlasting offence.

Silver

WALTER DE LA MARE

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy coat the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Because the Green Smog Bellows

SHAELYSSA

The oak and willow tree spoke to me
Of words untold upon the wooded meadow,
“Why does the blue-bird sing?” asked the oak tree,
“Because the black crow shrieks,” replied the willow.

The sea and land spoke to me
Of deeds undone upon the moon-blanched sand,
“Why does the owl hunt?” asked the sea,
“Because the vulture pilfers,” replied the land.

The bee and fly spoke to me
Of thing bygone upon the tranquil sky,
“Why does the peacock dance?” asked the bee,
“Because the ostrich lumbers,” replied the fly.

I look upon the meadow, the sand and the sky,
And see nought but havoc wreaked
By the black crow, vulture and the fly,
Amidst the bountiful beauty eked
By the blue-bird, owl and peacock.

And I ask myself,
“Why does the silver light fade away?”

Winter

WALTER DE LA MARE

Clouded with snow
The cold winds blow,
And shrill on leafless bough
The robin with its burning breast
Alone sings now.

The rayless sun,
Day's journey done,
Sheds its last ebbing light
On fields in leagues of beauty spread
Unearthly white.

Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon
Over that sea of frozen foam
Floats the white moon.

Eternity's End

COSMO MONKHOUSE

So we must part, my body, you and I
Who've spent so many pleasant years together.
'Tis sorry work to lose your company
Who clove to me so close, whate'er the weather,
From winter into winter, wet or dry;
But you have reached the limit of your tether,
And I must journey on my way alone,
And leave you quietly beneath a stone.

They say that you are altogether bad
(Forgive me, 'tis not my experience),
And think me very wicked to be sad
At leaving you, a clod, a prison, whence
To get quite free I should be very glad.
Perhaps I may be so, some few days hence,
But now, methinks, 'twere graceless not to spend
A tear or two on my departing friend.

Now our long partnership is near completed,
And I look back upon its history;
I greatly fear I have not always treated
You with the honesty you showed to me.
And I must own that you have oft defeated
Unworthy schemes by your sincerity,
And by a blush or stammering tongue have tried
To make me think again before I lied.

'Tis true you're not so handsome as you were,
But that's not your fault and is partly mine.
You might have lasted longer with more care,
And even now, with all your wear and tear,
'Tis pitiful to think I must resign
You to the friendless grave, the patient prey
Of all the hungry legions of Decay.

But you must stay, dear body, and I go.
And I was once so very proud of you:
You made my mother's eyes to overflow
When first she saw you, wonderful and new.
And now, with all your faults, 'twere hard to find
A slave more willing or a friend more true.
Ay - even they who say the worst about you
Can scarcely tell what I shall do without you.

A Mother's Love

HELEN STEINER RICE

A Mother's love is something
that no on can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away . . .
It is patient and forgiving
when all others are forsaking,
And it never fails or falters
even though the heart is breaking . . .
It believes beyond believing
when the world around condemns,
And it glows with all the beauty
of the rarest, brightest gems . . .
It is far beyond defining,
it defies all explanation,
And it still remains a secret
like the mysteries of creation . . .
A many splendorous miracle
man cannot understand
And another wondrous gift
from Elune's tender guiding hand.

Song of the Flower

KHALIL GIBRAN

I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.

At dawn I unite with the breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light farewell.

The plains are decorated with
My beautiful colors, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.

As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is
The only eye of the day.

I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.

I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.

But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.

Ignorance is Bliss

SHAELYSSA

I looked over the fields of green,
And wondered what should have been seen:
The mother doe and her child deer,
As she plays in the primrose bushes with no fear.
The preying owl and the little mouse,
As he carries his feast to his tree-topped house.
The buzzing bees and the summer flower,
As they fly up to their honey-comb tower.

What a sweet blessing it would be
To be ignorant to what is truly there to see:
The nest of green sickness and its relentless assault.
The bed of eternal sleep and its echoing fault.
Yes! - what a sweet blessing it would be
To be ignorant to what is truly there to see.

Retort

SHAELYSSA

Blood and thunder? Ha!
If honourable be your race,
Then red wires grow from my face!
You speak of glory and honour,
Yet no glory I see in your tides of horror.
You are nothing but a band of fiendish brutes
Who wreak havoc in their bloodthirsty pursuits.
What is your leader but a pitiful mule!
He feeds upon destruction as if it were fuel
For the raging inferno which he creates
To quench the bloodlust that never sates
Your growing and everlasting hunger
For blood and thunder!

Her Language

SHAELYSSA

Listen – to the barking of the bird,
To the weeping of the willow gone unheard.
Listen – to the pulse of the pine tree,
To the fervent song of the singing bumble-bee.
Listen – to the trembling of the rose,
To the laughter of the river as it flows.
Listen – to the whispering between the trees,
To the groaning of the tempered seas.
Listen – to the voice that calls to you;
Hear you not the voice as it calls to you,
Calls to you?

The Battlefield

SHAELYSSA

A field of daffodils waved to me,
As they sprang this way and that for all to see.
They skipped through the field and danced here and
There upon the moonlit strand.
They raised their blades of grass
To the starry, night sky en masse
As they opened their plumes of petal
And brought down a mighty flurry of metal.

Nature

SHAELYSSA

I am the winter rain that falls from above
I am the great stag and his powerful shove
I am the child deer and her mother’s love.

I am the sweet scent of the summer flower
I am the queen bee in her honey-comb tower
I am the striped saber causing need to cower.

I am the autumn wind carried to the forest
I am the baby hatchlings singing in their nest
I am where the deceased finally go to rest.

I am the young stream flowing beside the hill
I am the branded owl diving in to kill
I am the helpless mouse that now lies forever still.

I, Nature, am all these, yet these dwell
In my ocean of leathery leaves as if it were a well
Of all these things that I do tell.

I, Nature, live, grow, die
Yet still my endless tendrils reach to the sky:
I, no matter how hard the green sickness does try

Am here, am eternal, am father, mother, and child,
Though I am of all things wild;
I am what all things must abide.
I am Everlasting, the Beginning and the End.
I am Nature.

New Barrow Dens of Old

SHAELYSSA

Deep within the barrow dens
Lay the sleeping ones of old
Who wait to see what will unfold
About how to make amends
For bygone mistakes of ancient times.

Deep within the barrow dens
Comes the tempered calls of old
Who cry out at what they behold:
Spoilt forests causing need to cleanse
Their unforgotten and ancient crimes.

Deep within the barrow dens
Grows the great sickness of new
Blunders upon the morning dew:
Cherished life that he spends
With these failing and newborn rhymes.