And was it death or sleep or mystery,

That slew the -knighthood in so brave a tree,

And left him torn to bowels, stripped to bone,

Abject and mutilated and alone?

His body, broken but still marvellous,

Darkens and bars the way for us.

And so we leave our boat and move

Timidly through a fearsome grove,

Where witches shadows huddle as we go

It ends as sudden as a blow.

And here are blessed, blue-lit spaces!

The fireflies everywhere,

Like tips of wands are waving in the air.

And we can see our faces

Dimly, like faces in a well.

So quieted beneath that star,

We have forgotten that there was a spell,

And kiss, and laugh to find how real we are!

And then, as if she heard our laughter,

And longed to tiptoe after,

Amazingly alone and still,

And very fairy-queenlike on the hill,

The moon uprises, darling as of old.

So we go home, resplendent in her gold,

Safe in her glory,

And happy as the ending of a story.

Mount Misery Brook

[55]