A Lady

She wakes up early, though finds no need,
while singing with her friend of rosy face;
furrows and meadows the moon wide shall pace
at spring above the plot that feeds a seed;

so, in a barn glut waits patient a steed,
and sodden days was the price of the race,
like libations, which his fame will grace;
for a brave heroe has virtues that bleed.

Thus, her eyes know every single stride
that he bold chose in the twilight to take,
when through her firmament, broad wings glide;

soothing, long is the tall shadow they make,
any, who in their shade want to abide,
and each fixed fetter of injustice break.