A golden orb upon an oily lilac sky, the moon
A silent wistful air of lavender roiled at the sighing wind
Embolden or despair, yea traveler, beware of wolves
A phage of fear and falsehood sits across-ways in the glen
Neither breath of cold, nor dark of night will stay the demon-fen
No chest of gold, or swordsman bold or ages old still walks with men
Who braved that chill-glass fog of whisper-sigh on yonder barren moor
No breath of cold will pass the lips of those that walk into the fog
No breath of cold, no breath of cold will pass their lips forevermore