Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/46

He sat him by the bright hearthside
And turned towards the door;
And there upon the threshold stood
His lady, weeping sore.

He chased her down the winding stair
And out into the night;
But only found a withered crone,
With long hair, loose and white.

“Come hither now, you sly-faced witch;
Come hither now to me.
Say, if a lady all so pale
Your evil eyes did see?”

“Oh, true, I saw a little lass,
She went all white as snow;
She crossed my hand with silver crown
Just two short hours ago.”

“What did you tell the foolish wench—
Who must my lady be?
The false tale you did tell to her
You now must tell to me.”

“I hate you. Black Earl Roderick;
You're cruel, hard, and cold;
Yet shall you grieve like a young child
Before the moon is old.

“This did I tell her: like a queen
She'd ride into the town;
And ev'ry man who met her there
Would on his knees go down.

“I said that he who followed none
Would walk behind her now.
And in his trembling hands the helm
From his uncovered brow.