The Woman By The Water

She stands within the stormy glow Of sunset, with a face of snow, The white embodiment of woe, As night comes on:

She stands within the sombre glare Of dusk, with dark neglected hair, An apparition of despair, When day is gone.

The haggard house within the vale Looks spectral as a ragged sail The Dutchman hoists against the gale On haunted seas:

And in the garden,--one vast brake Of dock and thistle,--snail and snake Crawl; and the death-watch taps, awake In rotting trees.

The stagnant stream along the night Creeps, like a nightmare, where each white Lily is an uneasy light, A wisp up-tossed:

And through the cypress-trees and vines The gray fox skulks and laps and whines; The owl hoots; and the foxfire shines In darkness lost.

She stands beside the stagnant stream; Her garments drip at every seam; She looks a shadow in a dream Of dread and woe:

No star stares half so steadily At earth as at the water she; And what she sees there--it may be The owlets know.