High, over the sea, stands the Lady,
With spear of gold.
On hills of pure silver, hard driven,
By gales, ever bold.
Our Lady of Wolves, soft and kind,
Dance with us, brave one.
Run, leader of hunters, cruel and swift,
Slay her, the helpless deer.
High, on the hill, round the lone prey,
Wolves sing 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 swift prey.
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I would like to translate this poem