Guendolen.
211
And the night, with a cloud like a snow-white hand,
Shading the moon,
Shading the moon,
Unmantled, alone,
Beneath portals of stone
Fringed around with wet mosses,
Low-arched, damp, and green,
The threshold she crosses
Unseen!
Beneath portals of stone
Fringed around with wet mosses,
Low-arched, damp, and green,
The threshold she crosses
Unseen!
There were paths to the left, and paths to the right,
And one that struck through a frowning wood;
This was gloomy, and narrow, and rude;
Boughs above shut in the night;
On either side an aspen stood
Turning its leaves to the silver light;
And Guendolen here paused and paled,
For on that tree our Lord was nailed;
Thence, from that day to this, 'tis said,
Stirs every leaf with separate dread.
And one that struck through a frowning wood;
This was gloomy, and narrow, and rude;
Boughs above shut in the night;
On either side an aspen stood
Turning its leaves to the silver light;
And Guendolen here paused and paled,
For on that tree our Lord was nailed;
Thence, from that day to this, 'tis said,
Stirs every leaf with separate dread.
Runlets that hide in the meadow grass,
Moan in the distance and sobbing pass;
Moan in the distance and sobbing pass;
