Far away in the meads,
A young woman sits with zeal in her cheeks.
The fire in her eyes was a trifle,
For those lost in a mental scuffle.
Many an hour she gave away,
In counting heads.
Many came, many left,
None of them evinced deft.
Light struggled hard,
Through the intricacies of her mantilla,
Before melting into darkness.
Sparks of the night again witnessed tears of moroseness.
Hope banishing thoughts deranged,
Added celerity to her toes restrained.
The snowy lake still wishes to behold,
Charming springtide with fables untold.