The hound is at the witch's tree, The alder crouches white; The farmer sets his bitches free To creep along the night. I hear the wind whine in the bog; I hear the worms creep in a log, Turning the wood to meal; I've heard the rain-crow twice, I've seen two ghosts at dice Behind the dead mill-wheel. There is a candle on the stream That bows and bobs and does not die; It is a leaf the moon makes seem A candle rocking tenderly. Now if the moon would veil her face, And not go white and bare, I'd find me out a warm, dark place And lay my cold heart there; Too cold for any care. A place all earthy sweet and brown, Where tiny dwellers bore and plough, And birds at dawn hop softly down. But she goes white and bare, And she would come and stare; I could not die for thinking how The moon would stare and stare. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EUGENIA TODD by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JOHN CABANIS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SIXTEEN DEAD MEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1878 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI DECEMBER 31ST by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE THE DESCENT OF TIMOTHY by JAMES HAY BEATTIE PSALMS 71. PRAYER AND SONG OF THE AGED CHRISTIAN by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |