«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.
Mayhap a tithe of trothplight —
I deep — e’er and anon!»
«To and fro, save hither,
Is thy love.»
«Not a loth! —
But vying for my kinsmen!»
«Beautiful tyrant!
Fiend Angelica!
Dove-feathered raven!
Woluish-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!»
«E’er thou sayest aye!
Thief of a plot!
Now go to thy tryst!
Go, leave, totter! —
Until ye dwindlest.
A morsel, nay more,
For thy journey
Hither and thither!»
«That is a lie!
Lief I am not!
My words are but a twist
Fare well! — with jiy I came,
With rue I leave.
Even the orb cannot.
Help me melt the ice?»
«That is a lie!
Lief I am not!
My words are but a twist
Tis a feigned lie through loathing,
I say!»
«A dotard gaffer, I daresay…»
«…a sapling not!»
«Wherefore call me such names;
Nay imp am I!
Thou art my aghast hart —
Gazing in the glade.»