'A Witch, a Witch is sleeping....'

The shrillness ebbed away;

And up the way-worn moon clomb bright,

Hard on the track of day.

She shone, high, wan and silvery;

Day's colours paled and died:

And, save the mute and creeping worm,

Nought else was there beside.

[Pg 51]

Names may be writ; and mounds rise;

Purporting, Here be bones:

But empty is that churchyard

Of all save stones.

Owl and Newt and Nightjar,

Leveret, Bat and Mole

Haunt and call in the twilight,

Where she slept, poor soul.

[Pg 52]

[Pg 52]

ARABIA

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