He mours for the Change...

Do you not hear me calling, white dear with no horns?
I have been changed to a hound with one red ear;
I have been in the Path of Stones and in the Wood of Thorns,
For somebody hid hatred and hope and desire and fear
Under my feet so they follow you night and day.
A man with a hazel wand came without sound;
He changed me suddenly; I was looking another way;
And now my calling is but the calling of a hound;
And Time and Birth and Change are hurrying by.
I would for the Boar without bristles had come from the West
And had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky
And lay in the darkness, grunting, and turning to his rest.

(c) Хелависа, стихи W.B.Yeats