#y100

Well told are many tales of wide-known names, chansons of men, and rhapsodies of dames, yet how are we to sing of those unsung, or sung in long-lost wails, for whom bells rung, perhaps, many frigid nights ago, for whom some ancient cheek was wet with woe, of which, all the evidence we have is some frozen specimen upon a slab, whose dying tears, which surely once were there, are ice, and lost with all his ancient cares, his hunt and trek, his hurting tooth, his foot; he who treaded mountains before boots: I cannot sing as him, for I know not his tongue, although it fathered that I've got.