He slips out at night,
when his swan-wife is sleeping,
and takes her cloak of feathers with him.
He puts it on,
and glides among the lilies
waiting for the moon to light the water.
Sometimes there is a hunter,
seeking swan-maids, and he preens,
tricking his pursuer into dying on the rocks.
But when the corn is high,
and the sun shields his nightly secret,
he daydreams of the moment he is captured.