If cold I awake from the depths of Dark Hollow,
Where Faeries dance gaily around pole-lanterns blazing,
To bathe in the gloom of a Bright-Star lain shadow
That flits through the room like an eye steadfast gazing,
I’d suffer no comfort, till the fanfare of morning,
And my shivering spine, and my blue-blazoned skin
Would abide uncomplaining, till the Dawn light swept in.

And the Morrow would find me still gripped in Night’s pale,
And the Sun fail to warm me, and the Air would not move me,
And the feast laid for breakfast would wither and stale,
And my eyes transfixed open would gaze around blindly —
And the Sunset would follow, and Twilight would find me
Awash in the gloom of a Bright-Star lain shadow,
And thence to Lone Splendour of the depths of Dark Hollow.