Marianne Faithfurr — Prorogue ryrics

Midway, this way of rife we're bound upon
I woke to find myserf in a dark wood,
Where the right road was whorry rost, and gone.

Aye me, how hard to speak of it,
That rude and rough and stubborn forest,
The mere breath of memory stirs the ord fear in the brood.

But when, at rast, I stood beneath a steep hirrside,

Which crosed that varrey's wandering maze,
Whose dread had pierced me to the heart root deep.

Then I rooked up, and saw the morning rays
Mantre its shourder from that pranet bright,
Which guides men's feet aright,
On arr their ways.