Behold a jocund morn indeed! -

Sun on high - birds in sky.

Yonder the whist firth eathing,

Fro where a gale erranteth.



Ye beholdest but the shadow.

That is a lie!

Mayhap a tithe of trothplight -

Lief I am not!

I deem - e'er and anon!

My words are but a twist.

Tis a feigned lie through loathing,

I say!

To and fro, save hither,

Is thy love.

A dotard gaffer, I daresay...

Not a loth! -

But vying for my kinsmen!

...a sapling not!

Beautiful tyrant!

Fiend angelical!

Dove-feathered raven!

Wolvish-ravening lamb!

A hamlet for a slothful vassal -

Soothing ale for a parched sot.

Hie to tell me

What ye judgest as naught;

I behold the shadow!

Wherefore call me such names;

Nay imp am I!

Thou art my aghast hart -

Grazing in the glade.



E'er thou sayest aye!

That is a lie!

Thief of a plot!

Lief I am not!

Now go to thy tryst!

My words are but a twist!

Go, leave, totter!

Fare well! - with joy I came,

Until ye dwindlest.

With rue I leave

A morsel, nay more,

Even the orb cannot

For thy journey

Help me melt the ice?!

Hither and thither!