Praise of Ysolt

But his answer cometh, as winds and as lutany.

As a vague crying upon the night

That leaveth me no rest, saying ever,

“Song, a song.”

Their echoes play upon each other in the twilight

Seeking ever a song.

Lo, I am worn with travail

And the wandering of many roads hath made my eyes

As dark red circles filled with dust.

Yet there is a trembling upon me in the twilight,

And little red elf words crying “A song,”

Little grey elf words crying for a song,

Little brown leaf words crying “A song,”

Little green leaf words crying for a song.

White words as snow flakes but they are cold

Moss words, lip words, words of slow streams.

For in the morn of my years there came a woman

As moon light calling

As the moon calleth the tides,

“Song, a song.”

Wherefore I made her a song and she went from me

As the moon doth from the sea,

But still came the leaf words, little brown elf words

Saying “The soul sendeth us.”

“A song, a song!”

And in vain I cried unto them “I have no song

For she I sang of hath gone from me.”

But my soul sent a woman, a woman of the wonder folk,

A woman as fire upon the pine woods crying “Song, a song.”

As the flame crieth unto the sap.

My song was ablaze with her and she went from me

As flame leaveth the embers so went she unto new forests

And the words were with me crying ever “Song, a song.”

And I “I have no song,”

Till my soul sent a woman as the sun:

Yea as the sun calleth to the seed,

As the spring upon the bough

So is she that cometh the song-drawer

She that holdeth the wonder words within her eyes

The words little elf words that call ever unto me

“Song, a song.”