Beneath the sky with silver lines,
Silver eyes and silver guise,
A lit youth with golden voice
Sang mourn songs and no choice.
For once there, one winter night,
When frost and fear did not abide
By the shelter hath that youth,
That thin canopy above his head and forth.
Weaved dreams in the chiding sin.
And oh that day winds set in!
And pale there stood a shadow bright,
Alone in that chaste disguise.
A maiden with so soft a throat
Touched the youth’s trembling note.
She crept on to his side and told
“Youth! That’s not yet bold!”
Owls whooped out a strange device,
While that maiden mesmerized
All the soul hath within that youth.
And he sang till she doth.
When the sun set rays on his eyes,
The dew on the leaves hath dried.
A thought stroke him, and he recalled:
The Goddess of Singing hath him enthralled.
He groped everywhere for that silk attire
She wore down her knees and her golden lyre.
He look’d around with his keen heart
Wounded with Cupid’s dart.
“Have mercy on me, Goddess!” he said
“Lie me down on a thorny bed
For a hair’s breadth is even too far!
Sing to my flute and heal my scars!”
And a cloud dawned upon him with silver lines.
He thought it was her disguise!
“To thee I’ll sing till the heaven froze,
All mourn songs till I repose,
“In the lap of eternal silence;
My mouth bleeds out beyond a fence
And yet I remember that night with thee!
Come here, pretty maiden, and set me free!”