(Ah—sometimes—thou wilt be gentle?
Little roots of pain are deep, deep in me
Since I saw thee standing in my doorway.)
I have quenched thy torch—
I have plaited thy whip.
I am thy Woman!
NO ANSWER IS GIVEN
I am Ah-woa-te, the Hunter.
I met a maiden in the shadow of the rocks;
Her eyes were strange and clear,