The Wood by Myra Morris

| No TrackBacks
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

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

No TrackBacks

TrackBack URL:

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on September 3, 2014 7:34 AM.

Queen Street at 1.55 p.m. by Mabel Forrest was the previous entry in this blog.

Cuckoo in September by Kathleen Dalziel is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.


Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en