Through forest thick and cold I roam alone,
Wishing for naught but to be granted peace.
Yet Fate my life refuseth still to cease,
And cause me to wander with mind undone.
The world’s greatest beauty, forever gone!
This cry is mine until my soul release
And its resting place in Hell to decrease,
Eternally for my sins to atone.
The beasts about disturb not my travail,
That I might angry bring on cruel pain
And to all death of nature then assail
In raving hope of death swift might I gain.
Each man must find within his grace’s light
Or forsake Paradise for damnèd plight.
Looking for even further disconnection from the world, Orphos will have nothing to do with the animals of the forest, who in turn leave him alone.
7. decrease: descend.
9. travail: travel, suffering.