Walk along little bard

Walk along your path minstrel,
These halls are not for yours,
These be barred to them of heart,
Love crosses not these shores.

It is a hall of the deaf, O blessed bard!
Sing not for none can hear.
Yon lore is poison for ears
That have never been pure,

Of ornaments is joy shorn,
In ornaments is love born.
The day of newborn long gone,
All that innocence long undone.

Was a day when the nightingale sang,
Those days are them we mourn,
For if a heart know not love,
Never will it be despair shown.