They say that dead men tell no tales!
Except of barges with red sails
And sailors mad for nightingales;
Except of jongleurs stretched at ease
Beside old highways through the trees;
Except of dying moons that break
The hearts of lads who lie awake;
Except of fortresses in shade,
And heroes crumbled and betrayed.
But dead men tell no tales, they say!
Except old tales that burn away
The stifling tapestries of day:
Old tales of life, of love and hate,
Of time and space, and will, and fate.