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Thus do I bewitch You,my love, Lady
of the deep mere where sedge and bulrush sleep
in autumn mists, and fleet silhouettes creep
against the moon, of November geese.She
wanders restless from Her linen sheets, free
of dreaming, among ferns and the dark heap
of leaves at tree root, up to the steep
slopes of the Hill of Stones. Devotedly
carved are the lines of faith in the green rock,
for worshippers and worshipped long-forgotten :-
have You........rebecome the original
beloved spirit of the valley ? This clock
of old stones has stopped after zero ten
and your breath has frozen, become final.