Her fair lips were shaped like the bow of dawning.
I asked her name,
Striking my spear in the deep earth for resting.
“I am Kantlak, a maiden, named for the Morning.
On the mountain-top I heard two eagles talking—
The word was Love.
They cried it, beating their wings on each other
Until they bled; and she fell,
Yet, falling, still weakly cried it
To him soaring: and died.