something
The old wolf lies with his nose on his paw
far off on a dreambound hill .
He blinks an eye over man-made laws
and snuffs the air for the kill . ....
Running at night , running at night ,
with the wind-in-the-wood's caress ,
with the moon day-bright on the rock-torn height
like a queen in her wedding dress.
Not his with the pack to howl and gloat ,
with the kept curs whine and bark ;
there is salt on his tongue and fire in his throat
for his mate who runs in the dark . ...
Running at night , running at night ,
with the long swift lope of ease ,
springy tendons , pads feather-light ,
and her form that flits through the trees.
Burdocked his fell and his red eye dim
and his muzzle grizzled and grey ,
but the stars of heaven crownd down on him
though a million miles away . ...
Running at night , running at night
with the first wild rush of youth ,
with the moon in flight , with the stars in filght ,
so close on the heels of truth .
The old wolf grunts his scorn of the pack ,
though cold be close to the bone ;
who climbed the track that would not turn back ,
who halts on the rock alone . ...
Running at night , running at night ,
past mortal thought and breath :
beast with a God just beyound his sight
to track through the mist of death .