A Child of the People :: :: University of Virginia Library

High up above all cross and change,
And war of wind and storm of sea,
In sunless space where no gods range,
Or life is, dwell the sisters three.
High up above the highest star,—
Above all suns and moons of time,
Whose hush no murmur mounts to mar,
Whose height no tireless wing can climb,—
In a drear land, where light is lost
In wreaths and folds of ashen cloud,
And lurid flame of torches tossed
Flares blood-red through the leaden shroud,—
Where gaunt rocks gleam in depths of gloom
And mountain walls shut in the dark,
Blackened with many a misty plume,
Crowning the pine-trunks close and stark,
Sit three weird women, worn and grey,
With faces whiter than the dead;—
Hard eyes that seem the same alway,—
Cold eyes that never tears have shed;

And broad brows frozen in a frown,
And vexed with counsel grave and wise
Of love and death, desire and hate.
O cruel, sleepless lids, drop down;—
Drop down and hide them, lest our eyes
Freeze at the eyes of Fate!

My love lifts wondering eyes:—“What songs for June!
I should have laughed at Fate,—
A phantom whom some prank of the mad moon
Sent from her ivory gate
To frighten fools! We women grow the men,—
Must we grow poets too,
Or lose all lightning out of song? Say then
If a girl's songs ring true!”