Flitting through the trees

She runs

Like the quicksilver moon

High in the clear night sky

He passes through the dark trees

Striding onward with some mysterious purpose

Like Hyperion, the great, yellow Sun

Blazing across the blue sky

Each night they walk

Their path, their worlds, never crossing

But flowing onard, like two streams

Whispering side by side

He spies her

No more than a glance

yet enough to make her poor loving heart beat

And enough to make her quick feet fly

As she run

Their streams finally part

Until her path trickles into her watery sanction

Where she dives into the guarded hideaway

As he psses this lake

Where she so plainly hides

Does he hesitate to pass?

Does his heart wonder why?

Hath he ever dared,

On any passing night

To open up those guarded walls

And look deep into those waters.