Текст песни Martyn Bates - Thou Leanest to the Shell of Night

Thou leanest to the shell of night
Dear lady, a divining ear,
In that soft choiring of delight
What sound hath made thy heart to fear?
Seemed it of rivers rushing forth
From the grey derserts of the north?

That mood of thine, O timorous,
Is this, if thou but scan it well,
Who a mad tale bequeaths to us
At ghosting hour conjurable-
And all for some strange name he read
In Purchas or in Holinshed.