With the sting of the wind, and his gipsy hair
Flying, the falconer came, and two
Or three of the people of Castle Clare.
And the leaves of the autumn made a frame
For the picture there in the morning's flame.
What was said in that moment I do not know,
That moment of meeting between those lovers:
Whatever it was, 'twas whispered low,
Soft as a leaf that swings and hovers,
A twinkling gold, when the woods are yellow.