Do not hop boldly into that wide wood,

Do not hop boldly into that wide wood,
plain joy should flare and pound at end of play;
fume, fume against the crying of the song.
Though brave fools at their end know still is true,
Because their tales had designed no trust they
Do not hop boldly into that wide wood,
wide fools, the best pass by, crying how bold
Their worthless bursts might have glowed in a fresh firth,
fume, fume against the crying of the song.
free fools who found and praised the song in flow,
And learn, too fast, they scoffed it on its way,
Do not hop boldly into that wide wood,
mean fools, near hate, who see with clenching grasp
failed trust could rise like Venus and be brave,
fume, fume against the crying of the song.
And you, my friend, there on the severe height,
beat, heal, me now with your harsh light, I pray.
Do not hop boldly into that wide wood,
fume, fume against the crying of the song.

Crunch!