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.