 | Lyrics (1895) |  |
133
THE HAUNTED GLADE
Was it screech-owl or jay
With her scream of affright,
That cried by the way
At the fall of the night?
With her scream of affright,
That cried by the way
At the fall of the night?
I know not: I heard
Neither footstep nor shout,
But the slumbering bird
Rushed chattering out;
Neither footstep nor shout,
But the slumbering bird
Rushed chattering out;
Where the slow-oozing spring
Soaks out of the clay,
Some desperate thing
At the close of the day.
Soaks out of the clay,
Some desperate thing
At the close of the day.
134
Seemed to stumble and fall
On the mouldering leaf,
With the low bitter call
Of impenitent grief.
On the mouldering leaf,
With the low bitter call
Of impenitent grief.
So I who had gone
On my sceptical quest,
Hurried upwards and on,
And fled like the rest
On my sceptical quest,
Hurried upwards and on,
And fled like the rest
With a cry in my ears,
And impalpable things,
And intangible fears
Beating round me like wings.
And impalpable things,
And intangible fears
Beating round me like wings.
| Lyrics (1895) | |