Cascading gold
O, eyes of north
Thy love doth cease to wane.
And with thy flowers given forth
I receive so too in name.

O to find thyself in weirding times
Boots upon the level breach
Embark upon the tower hood
And know such wordless rhyme in peace

Atop the combe
Before the seat
Where I did find my rest.
Hitherto shy of the light
Now held in tenderness.