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!