 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
96
THE WEREWOLF
SheNay; still amort, my love?—Why dost thou lag?
He
The strix-owl cried.
She
Nay! 'twas yon stream that leaps
Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps;
Its moon-wild water glittering down the crag.—
Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop?
He
The Demon Huntsman passed with hooting horn!
She
Nay! 'twas the blind wind sweeping through the thorn
Around the ruins of the Dumburg's top.
97
My limbs are cold.
She
Come! warm thee in my arms.
He
My eyes are weary.
She
Rest, them, love, on mine.
He
I am athirst.
She
Quench, on my lips, thy thirst.—
O dear belovéd, how thy last kiss warms
My blood again!
He
Off! . . . How thy eyeballs shine!—
Thou beast! . . . thou—Ah! . . . thus do I die, accursed!
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |