The words are fading now like shadows at the light;
the vision’s passing fast, and I’ve no time to write.
I see them there before my eyes, I see them in my dreams;
When I awake, they’ve disappeared—gone for good it seems.
O distant hope, I long to speak the truth;
yet still I know this tongue is but a youth.
I scribble out the lines, but know not what I write;
I stumble in the dark blindly for the light.
Tale Told 