Danger from the hind unseen,
Danger from the fawn that sleeps.
Hears he us, yet heeds us not,
Dreams he that we are the wind;
Phantoms we of hounds forgot,
Ghosts of huntmen long since blind.
Dreams we are the forest's breath
Waking to the touch of day;
Recks not 'tis the horn of Death
Dying in the distance grey.