Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/55

 Stricken, footsore, parched, forlorn — Juice of purple grape shall be Youth and solace unto thee. Music of tambour, wire and wind, Ease shall bring to heart and mind; Wonderful sweet mouths shall sigh Languishing and lullaby; Turn then! Curse the dream that lures thee; Turn thee, ere too late it be, Lest thy three true friends grow weary
 * Of comforting thee!"

The Pilgrim crouches terrified As stooping hood, and glassy face, Gloating, evil, side by side, Terror and hate brood o'er the place; He flings his withered hands on high With a bitter, breaking cry: — "Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me,
 * Ye three wild fiends!

If I lay me down in slumber, Then I lay me down in wrath; If I stir not in dark dreaming, Then I wither in my path; If I hear sweet voices singing, 'Tis a demon's lullaby: And, in 'hideous storm and terror,'
 * Wake but to die."