A spectral form came down from the north Through wandering sailors The shipyards the bridges And into the city square She asked for the bookseller's house Holding a guitar A myrtle and rose-wreath Set in her flowing hair The summer moon lifted its veil Shown on the pavement The backyards and the bushes The ripening apple trees White as wool the river at her back She slipped through the fence Of the bookseller's house At the foot of the mountain A golden arrow Leading her bow The wolves stand beside her A feathers, she lets go An apple Placed on top of the head Is split In two The sky may be falling The ground may be sinking The pages are filling The story keeps spinning