THE WITCH
by: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
(1861-1907)
- HAVE walked
a great while over the snow,
- And I am not tall nor strong.
- My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set,
- And the way was hard and long.
- I have wandered over the fruitful earth,
- But I never came here before.
- Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!
-
- The cutting wind is a cruel foe.
- I dare not stand in the blast.
- My hands are stone, and my voice a groan,
- And the worst of death is past.
- I am but a little maiden still,
- My little white feet are sore.
- Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!
-
- Her voice was the voice that women have,
- Who plead for their heart's desire.
- She came--she came--and the quivering flame
- Sunk and died in the fire.
- It never was lit again on my hearth
- Since I hurried across the floor,
- To lift her over the threshold, and let her in at the door.
MORE POEMS BY MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE |
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