I rode into the wood, the wood,
When the dark was on the tree,
And the ebony boles, as straight as death,
Stood stark in front of me.
I rode into the wood, the wood,
For a hundred thousand miles,
And the cup o' the sun spilled out red wine
Between the sombre aisles.
"Clap," went the horse's hoofs, "clip, clap,"
And the dark was full of ghosts;
And I watched by the track the shadows change
To swarming, fairy hosts.
Hard to the silver reins they clung,
And along the saddle stood,
And the jewel-starred bridle bent and shook
(I feared the whispering wood)!
Sweet they sang in a wild, love song,
And caressed my untied hair,
And I bartered my heart for a fairy's kiss,
And thought I bartered care.
I rode out of the wood, the wood,
When the road was hard to see,
But I knew that the wood, the dreadful wood
Had taken a part of me.
"Clip," go the horse's hoofs, "clip clop,"
And "clip clop" throughout my brain --
But the heart of me lies in the fairies' hold,
And I ride not again!
First published in The Australasian, 3 September 1921
