O you who go in the lit ways,

making speeches and songs,

spilling trinkets from your mouths,

what words lipped in the sunlight

can spin a gold chain like those words

I can remember hearing in a past time?

syllables turning and clinging

in a loved tongue,

on a belovèd tongue,

sounding and following and patterned:

words loosed in the darkness to follow me,

and following me here,

binding me to him and to her

whom I dearly loved,

fast as the threads a spider winds,

hanging a rounded web from a grass

to a grass, and to other grasses,

stem to stem,

in the shadow of a wall.