As dawn too early rose, his hunt was stayed by chance and pebble shores.

He stood the side of sun at eve by Lake Whirl Crest.

A silhouette in solar halo, stark and red, stared from a hill

with ears perked high on east horizon’s coastal perch.

Over heaven’s glimmer, seated, single destiny dismayed,

for an abyss she placed between him and aught others.

With glare of morn, her visage glowed. He hence was swallowed by the waves.

She to a mate unmet, exhaustless, sung her search.

How oft the striplings, by night’s feathered wise, are wooed to press his way.

Pups, allured so, may stray the family ring.

At the jeer of squirrel, they’ll jig, or for the flatter of the bat,

or summer’s flutter midst the field’s flowerwing.

In this fashion, figured he. Hewed from his heart, stalwart, she posed.

Her fleshless face did break his tears, like rain on rock.

And where to jest a witless dare, the somber course for him was laid.

Not but delay shall drown, as folly to him spoke.

For wayward whisked, he so surmised she’d be, by wake of slumber tales,

should his steal be a stroll ‘long water’s flank.

Straightway to, thinking it best, greeted he depths that stilled his breath.

By both routes, never was forever be he late.

The truce of love, thought he, was far off by a she-wolf thrown,

though known less telling comes the cry through sulking clouds.

More touch was cooed unto the bantling, who went prowling for the owl.

The supple bardess was the wisp round jags of stone.