Uk:
Said I not that "sad" should be spoken but once? Shall I set Ok and Un upon thee with their branches?
Oan:
But it was so born within me—even "sad, sad—"
Uk:
If again thou twice or thrice say "sad," thou shalt be dragged to the Stone.
Oan:
Owl Ow! I am thy cub! Yet listen:
The bright day is gone.
The night maketh me sad—
Ow! Ow! thou makest me more sad than the night doth! The song—