Above the sea of fog 

themselves the mountains thrust 

an innuendo of god 

delivered to human kind 

For romanticism lives.  

  

From the fringe of the old wild west 

to the grave of the fenian sleep 

From the barricades of red Paris 

to the depth of the walden pond 

For romanticism lives.  

  

Why, I ask, shall we confine 

ourselves to the links of logic?  

Why, I ask, shall we lose  

the very fringes of human? 

The life of automata my heart fulfills not 

For when I die, I become one with earth 

For when I die, I return, mother nature  

Beauty, after all, contrasts the light and dark 

For romanticism lives.  

  

Bound not by the lines of logic and need 

but love and creed.  

For dazzles in sunlight sing 

and melancholies greive,  

emotion, the judge of our deeds. 

For romanticism lives.  

  

‘Twas better to heed neath the sea of green 

than factory, the straight of gray 

To those who can see the specter of freedom 

across from the foggy dew 

For those who dream 

romanticism lives.