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THE DEMON LOVER |
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 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
358
THE DEMON LOVER
The moon looks cold
On the withered wold;
The wind blows fierce and free:
The thin snow sifts
And stings and drifts,
Blown by the haunted tree.
On the withered wold;
The wind blows fierce and free:
The thin snow sifts
And stings and drifts,
Blown by the haunted tree.
The gnarled tree groans;
And sighs and moans,
And shudders to its roots:
Is it the fear
Of a footstep near?
Or the owl in its top that hoots?
And sighs and moans,
And shudders to its roots:
Is it the fear
Of a footstep near?
Or the owl in its top that hoots?
Is it a gust
Of thin snow-dust,
The wind sweeps from the plain?—
Is it a breeze
That wails and drees?—
Christ sain thee, Floramane!
Of thin snow-dust,
The wind sweeps from the plain?—
Is it a breeze
That wails and drees?—
Christ sain thee, Floramane!
359
The moon hangs white
In the winter night:
The wind blows fierce and free:
And Floramane
Her place hath ta'en
Beneath the haunted tree.
In the winter night:
The wind blows fierce and free:
And Floramane
Her place hath ta'en
Beneath the haunted tree.
What is it whines?
What is it shines
With owlet-eldritch light?—
With raven plume
Forth from the gloom
A man stalks, still and white.
What is it shines
With owlet-eldritch light?—
With raven plume
Forth from the gloom
A man stalks, still and white.
His face is dim;
His sword swings grim;
His long cloak flutters wide:
His kiss falls bleak
On her mouth and cheek,
As he folds her to his side.
His sword swings grim;
His long cloak flutters wide:
His kiss falls bleak
On her mouth and cheek,
As he folds her to his side.
What is it gleams?
What is it streams
So wan on Floramane?—
The moonlit breeze?
Or his heart, she sees
Through the stab, like a burning stain?
What is it streams
So wan on Floramane?—
The moonlit breeze?
Or his heart, she sees
Through the stab, like a burning stain?
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |