She Dropped The Bar, She Shot The Bolt, She Fed The Fire Anew For She Heard A Whimper Under The Sill And A Great Grey Paw Came Through. The Fresh Flame Comforted The Hut And Shone On The Roof-Beam, And The Only Son Lay Down Again And Dreamed That He Dreamed A Dream. The Last Ash Fell From The Withered Log With The Click Of A Falling Spark, And The Only Son Woke Up Again, And Called Across The Dark: "Now Was I Born Of Womankind And Laid In A Mother'S Breast? For I Have Dreamed Of A Shaggy Hide Whereon I Went To Rest. And Was I Born Of Womankind And Laid On A Father'S Arm? For I Have Dreamed Of Clashing Teeth That Guarded Me From Harm. And Was I Born An Only Son And Did I Play Alone? For I Have Dreamed Of Comrades Twain That Bit Me To The Bone. And Did I Break The Barley-Cake And Steep It In The Tyre? For I Have Dreamed Of A Youngling Kid New-Riven From The Byre: For I Have Dreamed Of A Midnight Sky And A Midnight Call To Blood And Red-Mouthed Shadows Racing By, That Thrust Me From My Food. 'Tis An Hour Yet And An Hour Yet To The Rising Of The Moon, But I Can See The Black Roof-Tree As Plain As It Were Noon. 'Tis A League And A League To The Lena Falls Where The Trooping Blackbuck Go; But I Can Hear The Little Fawn That Bleats Behind The Doe. 'Tis A League And A League To The Lena Falls Where The Crop And The Upland Meet, But I Can Smell The Wet Dawn-Wind That Wakes The Sprouting Wheat. Unbar The Door. I May Not Bide, But I Must Out And See If Those Are Wolves That Wait Outside Or My Own Kin To Me!" . . . . . She Loosed The Bar, She Slid The Bolt, She Opened The Door Anon, And A Grey Bitch-Wolf Came Out Of The Dark And Fawned On The Only Son!