THE WITCH IN THE GRAVEYARD
That westers hour by hour on tomb and stone;
And shrivelled lilies, tossed i' the winter's breath,
With their attenuate shadows, as might dance
Phantom with flaffing phantom; at my side,
The white and shuddering grasses of the grave.
With nettles, and the parching fumitory,
Whose leaves, root-trellised on the bones of death,
Will rasp and bristle to the lightest wind.
(The first witch moves on, and approaches again, after a long interval.)
And shrivelled lilies, tossed i' the winter's breath,
With their attenuate shadows, as might dance
Phantom with flaffing phantom; at my side,
The white and shuddering grasses of the grave.
With nettles, and the parching fumitory,
Whose leaves, root-trellised on the bones of death,
Will rasp and bristle to the lightest wind.
(The first witch moves on, and approaches again, after a long interval.)
FIRST WITCH:
Sister, what seest or what hearest thou?
Sister, what seest or what hearest thou?
SECOND WITCH:
I see
The mound-stretched gossamers, cradles to the dew;
Moon-wefted briers, and the cypress-trees
With shadow swathed, or cerements of the moon;
And corpse-lights borne from aisle to secret aisle
Within the footless forest.***
Now I hear
The lich-owl, shrieking lethal prophecy;
And whimpering winds, the children of the air,
Lost in the glades of mystery and gloom.
(The first witch disappears and passes again shortly.)
I see
The mound-stretched gossamers, cradles to the dew;
Moon-wefted briers, and the cypress-trees
With shadow swathed, or cerements of the moon;
And corpse-lights borne from aisle to secret aisle
Within the footless forest.***
Now I hear
The lich-owl, shrieking lethal prophecy;
And whimpering winds, the children of the air,
Lost in the glades of mystery and gloom.
(The first witch disappears and passes again shortly.)
FIRST WITCH:
Sister, what seest or what hearest thou?
Sister, what seest or what hearest thou?
SECOND WITCH:
I see
The ghost-white owl, with huge sulphureous eyes,
That veers in prone, unwhispered flight, and hear
The small shriek of the moon-adventuring mole.
Gripped in mid-graveyard.*** And I see
Where some wild shadow shakes, though the pale wind
Of moonlight stirs far off*** and hear
Curst mandragores that gibber to the moon,
Though no man treads anigh.***
I see
The ghost-white owl, with huge sulphureous eyes,
That veers in prone, unwhispered flight, and hear
The small shriek of the moon-adventuring mole.
Gripped in mid-graveyard.*** And I see
Where some wild shadow shakes, though the pale wind
Of moonlight stirs far off*** and hear
Curst mandragores that gibber to the moon,
Though no man treads anigh.***
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