I sat upon grassy linen Looking far into my thoughts Among deep and dark forests Lining a hazy grayish loch And there inside foreshadow dealt A vision to perception A prophetic form of imagery Manifest in shadows obscure And destiny falls to ruin No discourse but archaic filterings Of black and cryptic signs None helping a bleak understanding Of things not yet to come In the misty drizzle Entranced to deep in mind I saw an image foreboding Of the world which rests outside I saw a sea of tranquility At rest in the arms of the storm And destiny falls to ruin