From the hollow of the mountains the silver horn was blown,

The maiden wind was laughing among the trees now shorn.

And none would fear the stranger, the echoes coming with the sun,

The great rivers and wasted spaces cradled in the dawn.

The colored clouds rolled low, the deathless birds did sing,

Of her amazing beauty, of some immortal being.

No one dared to woo her as she cantered by,

A thousand songs a surging as lightning clipped the sky.

A floorless chasm fell eclipsing half the stars,

Golden was the mist, that drew them from afar.

In the heat and hillock, their secrets they did keep,

Guardian of the “better nots,” a thousand years they sleep.

And in the blackness of the day, none attempted flight

For in that secret hour, was no ordinary light.

They watched it grow more shocking, in the chamber lit,

Sweet songs and verses dreamed, the poets did forget.