 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
VI
The Swamp
Hummocks and hags of moss and writhen roots,Fantastic forms,—the twisted torture-tools
Of demon Nature,—who, amid gaunt stools
Of fungus, squats shrilling her insect flutes.
Above, at dusk, the staring screech-owl hoots;
The blue wisp wanders; and among dim pools
The horn'd moon searches where the darkness drools
Toad-throated mockery that the distance mutes.
The bladderwort and pitcher-flower bloat
Strange blossoms here, fat-rooted in the ooze;
And all the trees, that seem to await a sound,
Lean stealthily over, watching yonder boat,
Half-sunken there, fearful of what may use
Its rotting oar when night comes, hushed, profound.
| The poet, the fool and the faeries | |