Hearing that, the old man bade Rairu go to sleep that night on a high hill which was not far away. “And,” said he, “if it be that you desire the Silver One for her beauty alone and not that others may envy you in your possession, then it may be that your wish shall be granted.” No more he said, but walked away, singing to himself softly as he went.
All that day Rairu spent in the forest, eager for the night and the stars, and in the noonday heat sat in the shade of the trees with eyes fast closed, trying to make a song in which he might tell the world of the Silver One and her great beauty, for it vexed him that so few looked to her; but no words came to him to satisfy. Only this, which he thought but a poor thing:
When men sorrow and rage,
When the hearts of men grieve,
When arrows of sharp words wound,
When there is none to pity pain,
In the order of heaven there is sweet delight.
In the night hushed and still,
When is neither weeping nor laughter,
In the night-time between two empty days,