Markus Hans Trovis
The Pagan Knight
A silence lies on the wildwoods,
The light of the stars grows dim,
The winds has died in the branches,
But a shadow moves. It is him...
He is the stag in the moonlight,
The stallion alone on the hill,
The bull that paws at the tussocks,
The salmon that leaps the rill.
Each is the part of the Hunter,
The Godgead that lives in the Dark,
Lord of the Wild and the Hidden,
At midnight, the small breathing of spark.
His is the glory of the sunrise,
The greenness that rise in spring,
His is the force of the tempest,
The strength in the wild eagle's wing.
His is the voice of the pan-piper,
The power that governs the land,
But she is his wife and his mother,
And he dwells in the palm of her hand.
The light of the stars grows dim,
The winds has died in the branches,
But a shadow moves. It is him...
He is the stag in the moonlight,
The stallion alone on the hill,
The bull that paws at the tussocks,
The salmon that leaps the rill.
Each is the part of the Hunter,
The Godgead that lives in the Dark,
Lord of the Wild and the Hidden,
At midnight, the small breathing of spark.
His is the glory of the sunrise,
The greenness that rise in spring,
His is the force of the tempest,
The strength in the wild eagle's wing.
His is the voice of the pan-piper,
The power that governs the land,
But she is his wife and his mother,
And he dwells in the palm of her hand.
