Alvtider

How beutiful they are, the Lordly Ones
who dwell in the hills, in the hollow hills.
They have faces like flowers and their breath is the wind
that blows over summer meadows,
Filled with dewey clover.
Their limbs are whiter than shafts of moonshine:
they are more fleet than the March wind.
They laugh and are glad, and are terrible:
When their lances shake and glitter every
green reed quivers.
How beutiful they are,
How beutiful the Lordly Ones in the hollow hills.

- Fiona Macleod (1855-1905)