Well--let it be! The tales persist.Lost River only sees the sunClose shrouded in the mountain mist.
What was the deed? With knife, with fist,With rope, was some poor soul undone?Well--let it be! But tales persist,
For no one ever makes a trystBeside these waters wise men shun,Close shrouded in the mountain mist.
They say--a palsy plucks your wristIf e'er you try to fire a gun!Well--let it be; such tales persist,
For where the river takes a twist,They say--so all the legends run--Close shrouded in the mountain mist,
Unknown, unnamed, unmourned, unkissed,You see her face--a drowning nun!Well--let it be! Such tales persist,Close shrouded in the mountain mist.
