It's the Huntress who'll hold him
Swiftly his live's blood flows
Save forever those precious drops
Become Love's symbol, the red rose.
A third for love, a third the chase
Only a third of his time his own
With whoever should fancy to spend
For Love his inclination has shown.
Fierce the Huntress loved, but watch'd him die
Even as his birth had told of his Fate
Never again would Love claim him
A jealous lover? Maybe the huntress' hate.
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