In the grove of sparkling light;
in the field of starry night;
stands tall and sure and steady and pure
a lonesome victim,
a lamb at the kill,
to live and die for love’s sweet trill.
Out of a shadow strides the hunter;
sent to bring death,
muddy love’s waters.
So sure of himself, so ready he
to strike down love’s power,
to conquer the need.
He takes aim on the man,
draws back his hand;
the arrow quivers,
the bow is drawn tight,
the song of shy sparrows sounds in the night;
and they stand there as still
as if carved out of stone
while the maiden sleeps sound
in her bed in her home.
Then the hunter releases the arrow he holds;
the last cry of the lover as he is struck down
is a warning to love at the coming of dawn,
to his, in her bed, in her home,
safe and sound.