These woods are clever in loveliness,
Bells chime and tell of the mistakes in odours;
The sylvan stench understood the deadly men,
Who fastened their teeth to the barking dogs
With claims of dangerous pain,
And fitting healthy pangs.
The frozen rivers are also my loveliness,
They are attached to me from healing,
The properties are against the chemical properties,
Staying is the power that ends all comely affairs.
Such high tasks are fitting to the lame and heated,
Fixing sounds that are shaking the void of this universe.
Listen to the woods of this world,
An effort designs us when we work
For a jug of ale, from an alehouse
That remains an abbey of such inclinations.
We serve the woods with such alcohol
And drink too much due to the pains of fairies.
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