CONCERNING AN AILING WAYFARER WHO FELL IN LOVE WHERE HE WAS LODGED

Misguided, suffering, itinerant
in gloomy night, with indecisive foot
the labyrinth traversing of the wilds,
he called in vain, his steps at random took.

Repeated barking, if not close at hand,
at least distinct, he heard of wakeful dog,
and in a shepherd's cottage, poorly thatched,
compassion found, if not the way he sought.

The sun rose, and beneath her ermine cloak,
a sleepy beauty with sweet savagery
ambushed the traveler so beset with ills.

His lodging he will pay for with his life;
he'd have been better off roaming the hills
than dying in the manner that I die.