A feathered arrow to his bow
The archer Hatred fitted taut,
Drew tight the bowstring, kneeling low,
And forth a venomed message shot.

So full his quiver he forgot,
Ere died the twang of his bowstring,
The poisoned shaft that forth he shot,
The venomed message set a-wing.

Until, as through the wood he sped
Another day, he found it where
A heart, fell stricken, lying dead,
The shaft had pierced and quivered there.