Wild

In years past of old,
A glimpse at destiny:
His glass was white hemmed with gold,
Her spindle of ebony.
But bound upon his brows,
As the light upon her hair,
That he would see
The King, who is fair.
Beside the Palace doors,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice of silver fell
Into the shining pool.
He in the palace astray,
She at the wood’s wall,
For a coming bright day,
When leaves shall sprawl.
There he was, as leaves grew gold,
for years to bake,
Until he sang,
And a wish he did make.
Where now he wanders none can tell,
In wood he was set free;
And in the wind out of sight
And in a hidden tree.
Of what she was,
A distant sound,
Him in the air,
His love he found.