Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/164

 "Heed not the words of the Enchantress
 * Who would us still betray!"

And sad with the echo of their reproaches,
 * Doubting, he turned away.

"I may not shelter beneath your roof, lady,
 * Nor in this wood's green shadow seek repose,

Nor will your apples quench the thirst
 * A homesick wanderer knows."

"'Homesick' forsooth!" she softly mocked him:
 * And the beauty in her face

Made in the sunshine pale and trembling
 * A stillness in that place.

And he sighed, as if in fear, that young Wanderer,
 * Looking to left and to right,

Where the endless narrow road swept onward,
 * Till in distance lost to sight.

And there fell upon his sense the brier,
 * Haunting the air with its breath,

And the faint shrill sweetness of the birds' throats,
 * Their tent of leaves beneath.

And there was the Witch, in no wise heeding;
 * Her arbour, and fruit-filled dish,

Her pitcher of well-water, and clear damask —
 * All that the weary wish.