He has thought himself To the end of things To a cold ceder fire In mind you are beside him there The house Church yard and field This his wind Sways the grass to dance To dance before him Arrow ceder Dogwood Ash Tipped bone Antler Stone and lash Hear clanging of hoof and heel The rattle by roan On the white mountain On the black hill shown The beast he plays his harp He does deceive the hearts False fires in the minds of men This his wind Sways the grass to dance To dance before him
