It is true that you say the gods are more use to you
than fairies,
But for all that I have seen you on a high, white, noble
horse,
Like some strange queen in a story.
It is odd that you should be covered with long robes
and trailing tendrils and flowers;
It is odd that you should be changing your face and
resembling some other woman to plague me;
It is odd that you should be hiding yourself in the cloud
of beautiful women, who do not concern me.
And I, who follow every seed-leaf upon the wind!
They will say that I deserve this.