Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/71



help your home to-night, M'Cormac, for I know A white witch woman is your bride: You married for your woe.

You thought her but a simple maid That roamed the mountain-side; She put the witches glance on you, And so became your bride.

But I have watched her close and long And know her all too well; I never churned before her glance But evil luck befell.

Last week the cow beneath my hand Gave out no milk at all; I turned, and saw the pale-haired girl Lean laughing by the wall.

“A little sup,” she cried, “for me; The day is hot and dry.” “Begone!” I said, “you witch's child,” She laughed a loud goodbye.

And when the butter in the churn Will never rise, I see Beside the door the white witch girl Has got her eyes on me.