AI poem of the day #47

A snow-white eagle'neath the mistletoe, A golden breast all covered with silver, The air- of-a-Woman, My heart- of-the-Virgin. Thus I rise on wings in the morning, And float out upon the lake- Of-the-Desert, My feet are cool beneath the mistletoe, My hair flows like water-flowers, My eyes are like stars in the water, As all-white as the eyes of a star. Lilting high on the High Altar, An old man singing a new man's song, Singing his old songs in his new name, Call it accursed if you will, I am still Oaken-Stanes my wife is dead and gone, And the children grow o'er my head like mist upon the window-pane. How like a saint I wonder most In this wintry time! I feel my heart to thee ever fond And never can forget.