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.