In The Green Yew

The wind is howling in angry pain, Ah me, and I cannot rest; On such a night home is best, Why does she stand in the same old place With the smile of smiles on her cold white face And call me thro' the rain?

Ah--the Wind has died from the Fear of her smile-- And I creep quite still-- On over the hill, To where she stands 'mid the scented yew And where I now am standing too, And she sees me all the while.

A little green snake curls thro' her hair-- The scent of the yew is strong and sweet-- Her eyes have drawn me to her feet, And I lie along on the drenching ground And worship--and watch the snake curl round, His tongue shoots thro' the air.

Now--slowly she takes her eyes from me, And I dream and wait, Till in shades of hate My love of her smile has faded quite And I spring to kill her, there in the night-- But only the yew I see.