JEANNE DE BOURGES TO HER MASTER.
(1370.)
O thou to whom, upon the mangy heath,
Beneath the leprous moon the obscene cries
And crazy laughter of despair uprise,
And hymns of hate, forced through men's tight-clenched teeth;
Thou who hast taught me to outspeed the breath
Of tempests as the living broomstick flies;
To steal the bells of steeples from the skies,
And drop them in the sleeping fields beneath—
Reveal thyself, as in a mirror dim,
Where seethe the oils distilled from dead men's fat,
Which here with muttered spells I sit and skim;
Or come, as once at dusk, in shape of bat
To scorch, unseen, with kisses every limb,
And leave me, at the dawn, in shape of rat.
