A fire lion lays on the rich hue grass,
Sitting there by the bough of tree:
And sun shine falls for her flaméd tress
And wears each flame on her skin-seam:

While tempted I am to approach this beast,
Who sits there smelting shades o' skin,
The eyes of hers are like the very leaf -
So swift and keen and fell within:

And so I watch from a great distant height,
And so she be a star in grass not red,
With mane that on her lion could light
A spark or flame of emberness.