Book of Selenic Dreams
(Þeseþ þe dreameþ ofan anonymeþ Lloþeyæn sailor, as recordeþ by nurseþ from þe wordeþ spoken loudeþ in his sleep whilst being treateþ fora near fatal fever ina Vistiliæn chariteþ sickhous.)
I glimpseþ þe stone. Þe new stoneþ þæt old stone when I seeþ þrougha faceted bridge of crystle. Þe fowl hydra squabbeþ wiþ itself, four masses þæt devour þe blighteþ feast of violence. Felds are tilleþ in blood and soweþ in brimeþstone. Ana harvest in scarlet is reapeþ. Four graspeþ hands, clutcheþ þe strong stone touchable byeþ none. Four heads snappeþ, blindeþ to all and unhedeþ þæt þe headsman axe falleþ. Þe hood cloakeþ in shadowa face wiþouta face. Words of æsh inkeþ on pages by glow of wordeþ ember lit. Its false truþs þæt honeyeþ by true falsehoods. Ana þief born of nonewhere steals þe Sovereigneþ slumber froma child of þe zodiac. Þe Þree of Þorns is playeþ on lizardeþ shore, ana wildcard in þe great game of rules unkennable. Þe Joker is dealeþ to all honest cheatereþ, ana faceless deck of Aces. I hearþ þe snap of hewn yew. Ana treason looseþ þæt pierceþ þe veil of norþern haze. Her selenic white runneþ red, mineþ breþren hunt. Þe long drought drowneþ. I feelþ white feaþers being indelibly stained in þæt sullied murk of þe well used way neþer trodden. Þe guilty man is chargeþ wiþ þe crime of innocence, his punishment is freedom. I smell þe silvered tarnish shed in þe wake ofa murdereþ crow. His funeral procession is led steepeþ in gilded blood. Þe macabre dancing in þe absence of her selenic grace to þe soundless tune of þe madden dirge. I hearþa banshee canteþ her howl bleakeþ. Her twice sung aria whistleþ þrough þe city of towers shattereþ. Ana staccato cipher heraldeþ þæt message illegible. Surroundeþ by þe new stone þæt is old, þe scarlet steepeþ lily is consumeþ in wiþering fire þat does not it wiþereþ nor consumeþ. Its gardener weareþa mask of polluted purity. I hear þe wakeful lullaby, stirring þe dreamer inta fitful, graspeþ wakefulleþ. Sovereign sleep twice stolen, þe price paid in twilit rest. Þe dreamer calleþ, whispering sleep wordeþ not heard. Þe dreamer sighs, and þe garden of þe First Saints settleþ to mournful night. Dawn ariseþ, darkness shining bright. Shadows cast in white. Her Selenic... All will... Will...
(Þe dream endeþ here, þe afflicteþ speakereþ fever brokeþ, and he sayeþ no more. When he awakeþ, he haþ no memorieþ what he sayeþ.)
- The most commonly found Archaic Wexan translation of The Book of Selenic Dreams, anonymous translator.
I glimpseþ þe stone. Þe new stoneþ þæt old stone when I seeþ þrougha faceted bridge of crystle. Þe fowl hydra squabbeþ wiþ itself, four masses þæt devour þe blighteþ feast of violence. Felds are tilleþ in blood and soweþ in brimeþstone. Ana harvest in scarlet is reapeþ. Four graspeþ hands, clutcheþ þe strong stone touchable byeþ none. Four heads snappeþ, blindeþ to all and unhedeþ þæt þe headsman axe falleþ. Þe hood cloakeþ in shadowa face wiþouta face. Words of æsh inkeþ on pages by glow of wordeþ ember lit. Its false truþs þæt honeyeþ by true falsehoods. Ana þief born of nonewhere steals þe Sovereigneþ slumber froma child of þe zodiac. Þe Þree of Þorns is playeþ on lizardeþ shore, ana wildcard in þe great game of rules unkennable. Þe Joker is dealeþ to all honest cheatereþ, ana faceless deck of Aces. I hearþ þe snap of hewn yew. Ana treason looseþ þæt pierceþ þe veil of norþern haze. Her selenic white runneþ red, mineþ breþren hunt. Þe long drought drowneþ. I feelþ white feaþers being indelibly stained in þæt sullied murk of þe well used way neþer trodden. Þe guilty man is chargeþ wiþ þe crime of innocence, his punishment is freedom. I smell þe silvered tarnish shed in þe wake ofa murdereþ crow. His funeral procession is led steepeþ in gilded blood. Þe macabre dancing in þe absence of her selenic grace to þe soundless tune of þe madden dirge. I hearþa banshee canteþ her howl bleakeþ. Her twice sung aria whistleþ þrough þe city of towers shattereþ. Ana staccato cipher heraldeþ þæt message illegible. Surroundeþ by þe new stone þæt is old, þe scarlet steepeþ lily is consumeþ in wiþering fire þat does not it wiþereþ nor consumeþ. Its gardener weareþa mask of polluted purity. I hear þe wakeful lullaby, stirring þe dreamer inta fitful, graspeþ wakefulleþ. Sovereign sleep twice stolen, þe price paid in twilit rest. Þe dreamer calleþ, whispering sleep wordeþ not heard. Þe dreamer sighs, and þe garden of þe First Saints settleþ to mournful night. Dawn ariseþ, darkness shining bright. Shadows cast in white. Her Selenic... All will... Will...
(Þe dream endeþ here, þe afflicteþ speakereþ fever brokeþ, and he sayeþ no more. When he awakeþ, he haþ no memorieþ what he sayeþ.)
by Dutrius
- The most commonly found Archaic Wexan translation of The Book of Selenic Dreams, anonymous translator.
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