Marked by the priesthood of the
Night's misrule,
The shadow-cowled, imprecatory
trees —
Cypress that guarded woodland
secrecies
And graves that waited for the
delaying ghoul,
Nathless I neared the melancholy
pool,
Chief care of all, but closlier
sentinelled
By those whose roots were deepest
in dead eld.
Where the thwart-woven boughs
were wet and cool
As with a mist of poison, I drew
near
To mark the tired stars peer
dimly down
Through riven branches from the
height of space,
And shudder in those waters with
quick fear,
Where in black deeps the pale
moon seemed to drown —
A haggard girl, with dead,
despairing face.
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