1. He who hunts with arrows reaching far,
His quiver holds arrows that do not miss their mark.

2. Yet he is like a girl peering out from her tent,
Her tent opening filled attractively to the eye.

3. Sweet of feature, down covers his eyelids,
Pure white skin, sturdy frame, perfectly formed.

4. In him the full moons find their likenesses,
From them his cheeks take on a darkened hue.

5. His face turns just as that other face turns,
As if it were molded from the same form as his.

6. He has the fangs and claws of a lion
And the neck and shoulders of a wild doe.

7. He is famed for beauty and comeliness;
His might and strength of arm are well-known.

8. He cocks his ears, displaying their keen hearing,
For that which the arrows in their quivers have obscured.

9. Like two branches bending over,
Framing his head, the ears distinct and clear.

10. Does some fanciful notion make you smile
At the dimples indenting his cheeks?

11. Like amber the smoothing stones have straightened
After the twisting branches distorted it at first.

12. As if he is wearing a coat of his own skin,
Its softness makes his palms appear to be clad in white kid gloves.

13. Blinking, narrow-eyed, being coy,
As if by some clever design.

14. The twittering Francolins tell of him in their songs,
As do the subtle snares―both hearing and tracker.

15. When he spies his quarry, he hides his person and waits;
His heart is set on seizing his prey.

16. As he hugs the ground so tightly in ambush
It is as if the ground will split from his fervent desire.

17. He flows towards his intent like a piece of white cloth,
Until, when he nears his prey and lies in wait,

18. The hand of death is stretched out over it, so it cannot
Escape, while the flowers this day are in full bloom.