She sat upon a grass hill,

   And gazed o’er the trees;

Beside her crouched a rabbit,

   The birds sung at her knees.

She fixed upon a mountain,

   A terrifying stare—

The forest winds are changing—

   A blazing they all bear.

“Oh, Forests! Take some pity

   Upon my helpless state;

Stomp out this horrid wildfire,

   And bless and save our fate!”

They listen not her prayers,

   They heed not to her sound;

The fires are fast approaching—

   The blues and greens they ground.

“Oh, River! Take these jewels

   That grace my hair of jet;

And here, my clothes of satin,

   To thank thee I’ll forget.”

But silent hummed the river,

   A harsh and bristling tune—

And silent danced the bright sky,

   Under a tranquil moon.

Quiescent stood the glass world,

   Shattering from the flame,

And down the trees went crashing

   To death without a name.

Upon the ermine meadow,

   Sank down that Lady’s head;

“I join thee, dearest planet”—

   Fair Juniper is dead.