Transcriber's Note:

This e-text was produced from Weird Tales October 1936. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

Witch-Burning

By MARY ELIZABETH COUNSELMAN

Last Friday afternoon.

The shadows on the moon;

Like fox-fire on the fen ...

Will never curse again.

Before the village gate.

To damn her, tense with hate.

Her pallid cheek ran red ...

The way she held her head.

Her eyes were terror-wild.

No taller than a child.

And laughed to see her fear ...

That no one dared to hear.

But ere she swooned with pain

Beneath the sudden rain,

For time can not erase

The memory of her face.