The maples on fire,

and the sky cold sapphire.

How rich autumn was in gold!

There walked the proud deer

his crown a blazing sphere

his antlers the dusk foretold

What a light I wrought!

It is fairer far than aught

the winding of ochre and red.

Thus stood he, spellbound,

and heeded not the sound,

the rush of Time’s heavy tread.

As he praised himself,

All at once came an elf!

who whispered: “My King, I fear:

thou should be far hence,

beyond the twilight’s glance,

Haste! Ere the Gate disappear.

In Underworld sown,

the seeds lie cold and lone,

unwarmed, they shall ne’er stir.

So, tarry no, Sire,

if ’tis still your desire,

to rise on the Solstice Fir

On hearing those words,

the stag did rush westward

the Gate between Worlds to chase

Nor one backward glance

to the white snow expanse,

unfolding behind his race.

A coo in the hush

made the stag break his rush:

a dove gripped in frost he met.

She said: “Gentle deer,

winter felt so far from here,

I had sought no shelter yet”

“My fault!” said the king,

“may i warm thy poor wings,

may thy little life be blessed!”

He gathered twigs, moss,

from the path still to cross,

his antlers became a nest

“Thou wilt soon feel stronger

But I can wait no longer:

with thee I’ll cross the Threshold.”

The Deer and the Dove,

wearing light, wearing love,

into the Underworld.

When they rose again,

he shed an antler then

she grabbed it and flew away.

Preceding the deer,

flying ahead she did bear

right in time the first Solstice ray.