The steeds of the Black Wind race
Frost-shod and fleet,
Where you hide from my love your face,
And stay your feet:
In this rose-rimmed quiet glen
I bide, and pray
Through the star-filled gloom, and the day,
For your voice again.

The flames on my hearth leap red,
Each a slender spear,
My bosom awaits your head,
And to charm your ear
I have wonder-tales without end,
Fond words untold,
Or the spell of a harp of gold,
As your wild moods tend.

Oh strong man! man of my love!
With eyes of dreams,
Pools of the dusk where move
No starry gleams.
Come from your storm-girt tower,
Come to my side,
And sweetly your sheath of pride
Shall break into flower.

When the arrow ends its flight
You will lonely grow
For a woman's kiss in the night,
And her breast of snow
You will reach your arms to the Dark,
And call and cry,
As the wingéd winds sweep by—
But no ear shall hark.