Shadows Of Night Poem by Jerome Brooke

High on the hill, round the lone prey,
Wolves sing, howls of cold.
Wolves, gray hunters, sing and run;
Hunters fleet, and bold.

Blood of red deer, sing the hunters,
Blood for the long day.
Blood, sings the Lady, red blood,
Blood of helpless prey.

Rushing to the lone, silent prey,
Wolves now dare.
Wolves call, cold hate, howls rise;
Fear, hate, fills the air.

Wolves sing, howl their cruel tune,
In song of old.
Our Lady, Lady of Wolves, alone,
With claws of gold.