Page:Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson, Hitherto unpublished, 1921.djvu/41

 And all such like, were drawn a hundred tales;

And therein was the swinging censer showed,

And therein altar candles feebly glowed

And the bent priest upraised the sacred host.

And when the dusk drew on, in times of frost,

And new fires sparkled on the clean swept hearth

And with pale tongues and laughing sound of mirth

Licked the dry wood and carven iron dogs

Whereon was piled the treasure of the logs,

In the red glow that rose and waned again

The pictured figures writhed as if in pain,

Elijah shook his mantle, and the knight

His spear, and 'mong the elves of foot-fall light

One saw the dance grow faster, till the flame

Once more drew in, and all things were the same.

Nor were there wanting fleshlier joys than these;

For as the night grew closer and the trees

Hissed in the wind, before the ruddy fire

Was spread the napkin, white to a desire, [ 33 ]