from her shining chamber, leaped
to land on the pebbled shore
by your boot -- and you question?
the quail comes forth from the bush
to give herself in offering --
her sweet meat in the fire of
sacrifice -- and you question?
you have stolen the white cow
who bears the moon on her brow
without raid, without foray
for she bears the broken tether
and if this is an evil
then so is love, and honor
that lames the white mare of joy
in the name of the homestead
and indeed your ears shall be
two ears of shame -- for letting
your hand fall limp and the crown
roll under the hawthorn, hidden
sovereignty presses the cup
to your unworthy lips -- those
lips blood-red turning from
her offering, bled by fear
it is the will of the green
and wide-hipped earth, the river
gleaming under the sun she
stills for nine months for desire --
and swan-winged love himself was
born of Boann's trickery.
so claim your honor, Noisiu!
snatch the mare that comes willing!
and we shall follow the mare's
bright step, whether filled with flame
or blood -- and a wish that she
pressed the cup to us instead