All That's Past - Liva

Very old are the woods

And the buds that break

Out of brier’s bough

When March winds wake

Oh, no man knows

Through what wild centuries

Roves back the rose

Our dreams are tales

Told in dim Eden

By Eve’s Nightingales

But, the day gone by

Silence and sleep like fields

Of amaranth lie

Very old are the brooks

And the rills that rise

Where snow sleeps cold beneath

The azure skies

Sing such a history

Of come and gone

Their every drop is as wise

As Solomon.