The Winter Moon

Deep in the dell I watched her as she rose, A face of icy fire, o’er the hills; With snow-sad eyes that froze the forest rills, And snow-sad feet that bleached the meadow snows: Pale as some young witch who, a-listening, goes To her first meeting with the Fiend; whose fears Fix demon eyes behind each bush she nears; Stops, yet must on, fearful of following foes. And so I chased her, startled in the wood Like a discovered oread, who flies The faun who found her sleeping, each nude limb Glittering betrayal through the solitude; Till in a frosty cloud I saw her swim Like a drowned face, a blur beneath the ice.