For now the sky is cold as very death.
And then she drew a little sobbing breath
“Without a little lonely wind doth crune
And calleth me with wandered elfin rune
That all true wind-born children summoneth
Dear, hold me closer! so, till it is past
Nay I am gone the while. Await!”
And I await her here for I have understood.
Yet held I not this very wind — bound fast
Within the castle of my soul I would
For very faintness at her parting, die.
Sancta Patrona
Domina Caelae
Out of thy purity
Saint Hilda pray for me.
Lay on my forehead
The hands of thy blessing.
Saint Hilda pray for me
Lay on my forehead
Cool hands of thy blessing
Out of thy purity
Lay on my forehead
White hands of thy blessing.
Virgo caelicola
Ora pro nobis.
Rendez-vous
She hath some tree-born spirit of the wood
About her, and the wind is in her hair
Meseems he whisp’reth and awaiteth there
As if somewise he also understood.
The moss-grown kindly trees, meseems, she could
As kindred claim, for tho to some they wear
A harsh dumb semblance, unto us that care
They guard a marvelous sweet brotherhood
And thus she dreams unto the soul of things
Forgetting me, and that she hath it not
Of dull man-wrought philosophies I wot,
She dreameth thus, so when the woodland sings
I challenge her to meet my dream at Astalot
And give him greeting for the song he brings.