As silent as the fox they ride
Helms and shields all mirror bright
Flower faced in cold hard pride
From hill to hill they pass the night

The silver tack rings with bells
Clothed in spider silks and fur
Gems burn with fire from t’neither hells
From crystal pikes are banners furled

Behind the hills rise rose and gold
Sun’s chariot brings the doom of fate
Mid-summer morning tales are told
Ride, Ride! The Sidhe are late!