Thou evil-working one! thy feet
Tread treacherous ways of ice and sleet.
Grinie! of lovelier hue than Spring
To flower, or bloom on bough can bring,
More fleeting far your love that flies
Like the cold clouds of dawning skies.
Because of thine ill-chosen part
My fortune's firm set rivets start.
Yes, thine the deed, brought low to pain,
My grievous woe thine only gain.
From palaces of kings beguiled,
For ever outcast and exiled:
Like night-owl mourning, as she strays,
Her joy through dark and distant ways.
Like timid hind or hunted deer,
Through secret glens I tread in fear.
Shunning the loving friends who hold
The house of hosts so loved of old.
Their forms shone glorious as the lights
On the deep snows of frosted heights.