Beasts

He grudges Dawn its gracious light,
the dance defying dark of night.
Her fleeting tread is flickerred red,
and wakes the world to waxing bright.

The Dawn is cool when day is new
and soothes the clouds with subtle hue.
The morning Sun, her march begun,
above the veiled vaults of blue.

Then homeward wends the hostage wife
to lightless halls, to lurking life,
A haunted bride by husband's side,
by clan betrayed to cleanse the strife.

On seaward cliffs the citadel
was raised on stone and rounded shell
where arcs the sun, from oceans won,
and mewing gulls in morning dwell.

Ere morning comes its music plays
and paints the cliff with piercing rays.
From cresting flood like crimsom blood,
it shines upon the shoreward sprays.

Her pale face, a polished stone,
in dark of night it dimly shone.
She glints afar, a gleaming star;
in wisps and dusts she walks alone.

Then stands the Sun till strength is less:
the Daughter comes with darkest tress.
Her face is clear, a forest mere,
her sable gown is somber dress.

He hates the night that hopes evades,
when spectres hunt with spines and blades.
he waits alone where witches moan
and weave their snares in webs of shades.

He loathes the day whose light reveals
his sister shows what shame conceals.
His face is scarred by foes too hard
to meet on meads: their magic steals.

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Her seven maids of silent grace
attend the Daughter's taunted pace;
their nimble feet in night are fleet
In gauze and gems and gowns of lace.

How soft they step on sandy shores;
their dances sweep through dusty floors.
They weave and sew the welkin glow
with steel threads from stellar cores.

He split the wood on wild spire;
with riven stone he raised the pyre.
The hunger flames; It howls and maims;
the stones deform In steam and ire.

She fears the fire's formless greed
whose magic makes the metals bleed.
She bid it quailed, its burning failed,
to keep afresh the copse and mead.

The hearth is cold; its heart is dead.
Away the spark the wood had fed.
The dark surrounds with deedless bounds,
a single soul in silent dread.

When quiet sleep should quell his fears,
the hounds will hunt and horror sears.
The wailing dead, he wakes in dread:
his youth is gone In gainless years.

His hostage wife has weary heart:
the feuds contend and families part.
A wish awoke to welcome folk
who wove their woes with warring art.

She asks him once and asks again
to visit kin, their visage ken,
regain the joys of girls and boys
ere hatred came to hill and glen.

They bid her kin to boldly fare
to feast on kine and field hare,
to sing or say on summer's day
what words seem fit of sooth or care.

Her maidens open musty shutters
and wish awaythe work that clutters.
The ocean breeze will bring them ease,
yet pennants stream In pensive flutters.

They polish lamps of pale gold
with melting flame in metal cold.
Intense but small, they teem the hall;
they face the dark with fires bold.

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A lucid net, a lace of stars,
ascends the night the silence bars.
Their splinterred light through spacious night
descends upon his sorrowed scars.

He stands as though with sternest might
beyond the edge of yellow light.
The shadows hide his shudderred stride;
he cloaks his path with clinging night.

As sun descends that soarIng climbs
her folk are cleansed of faring's grimes.
The dreams of lutes, the drums and flutes
retell the acts of ancient times.

They pass the plates of piled meat
and hills of cakes of honey sweet.
Their tongues are freed by taste of mead.
Their faces flush with feverred heat.

They boast with ease about their war,
of swinging swords that swim through gore.
They brag of falls of Brothers's halls
and hound their host with heckled roar.

The minstrel casts a music trance
as rivals take a reckless stance.
To break the mood that bragging hewed,
the wife and husband weave a dance.

The glinting lamps are glad report
about the strained and battled court.
her shining face and shadowed pace
are clasped in clouds that cling and thwart.

the sun responds with searing heat
to dawning's Daughter's dancing fleet.
Her husband's dark has hid her spark:
his night consumes her nimble feet

She twists away from twining arms
to show again her shape and charms.
His hands are tight, withholding light;
her stormy eyes are stern alarms.

Their host retells those haunted days
of warring hate, the waste it lays;
his Brothers broke this braggart folk:
they sped in fear from spurting blaze.

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He rends the gown that wraps his wife,
this hostage sold to halt their strife.
He bares the Daughter they bought with slaughter:
he owns her flesh and all her life.

He bids them live, so bold in peace,
to turn away till tantrums cease.
with mutterred threats and mute regrets
his guests are gone like gaggling geese.

They kiss the Daughter, captive bride,
who gathers shreds of gowns and pride.
She stood enmeshed with storming mind,
and through the eve will threat and chide.

And softly sung, the silence fills
the hall that waits on witherred hills.
As murmurs dim, their mood is grim.
The faithless fire fades and stills.

The lamps have flickerred; their light is dead;
their vanquished vapours voice instead.
In hopeless dreams, the hardship teems:
their days continue, dully led.

The Sun arose from salty bath
to climb upon its cloudy path.
Through somber haze, her sullen gaze:
the day arrives to Daughter's wrath.

She greets her lord with grinding words
that hew and tear like hicntirg birds
and heedless strains her husband's pains.
From taunting words his temper curds.

In fury swift, he swings his fist
as rage erupts a reddenned mist.
The beast awakes; it body quakes.
She tries to flee with trembled twist.

The beauty lies in bounds of pain.
His wife is bruised by whip and chain.
He cowers shamed: his courage maimed,
but strong enough to strike insane.

They wait apart in waning day,
the flare of crimson fades to gray.
They rest their violence, the rest is silence.
Their empty years are ash and clay.

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