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Ah fall'n, fall'n low, the pillars of our fane!
Whose leaf-enwoven walls may rise no more again.
From high pil'd roof of boughs, from shadow-dappl'd floor,
Passionate pilgrims pass! We'll to the woods no more!
Ombrage.(Looking after the dancers):
Passionate pilgrims, so your passions pass,
I deem'd the laurel would outlast your loves,
The bay grow greenly yet when you were grey,
But they have fall'n and your loves abide,
Light loves as little lasting as the leaves
Renew'd each spring-tide, aye, and better so,
Since fleeting love is like the wayside well
You drink of, passing, but enduring love
Is bitter and unfathomable, salt as brine,
Mysterious as an unsounded sea.
