But the day was gone in that hour when my song was born to me.
Uk:
Then shouldst thou have sung it only at that time, and not when it is yet day. But beware lest thou awaken me in the night. Make thou many stars, that they fly in the whiskers of Gurr.
Oan:
My song is even of stars.
Uk:
It was Ul, thy father's wont, ere I slew him with four great stones, to climb to the tops of the tallest trees and reach forth his hand, to see if he might not pluck a star. But I said: "Perhaps they be as chestnut-burs." And all the tribe did laugh. Ul was also a fool. But what dost thou sing of stars?
Oan:
I will begin again:
The bright day is gone.
The night maketh me sad, sad, sad—