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Lassus's Poetry
The Hunter
The Hunter's ravens spread wings and fly
He, himself, shall never die
The Hunter's hounds hunting in a run
Lighting in his eyes all he will shun
The Hunter's shadow spreads over all
None can deny him, everything must fall
The Hunter's blade cuts all low and high
Never to him can you lie
The Hunter's work is never done
Nor would a good man consider it fun
The Hunter's face, forever conceled by a shawl
You will go with him, as none escape his call
For the Hunter is Death
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Beauty can be found in the darkest day and on the darkest hour and even in the darkest mind
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