THE WEDDING OF PALE BRONWEN
I.
The wind was waked by the morning light,
And it cried in the gray birch-tree,
And the cry was plain in Bronwen's bower,
"Oh, Bronwen, come to me!"
Pale, pale sleeps Bronwen, pale she wakes;
"What bird to my bower is flown?
For my lover, Red Ithel, is at the wars