Her eyes were dreaming eyes that see
Things strange and fair and far away.

They stood her in the judgment hall.
"Confess," they cried, "the blasting spell
That holds yon crazed monk in thrall?"
"Good sirs," she said, "he loved me well."

They haled her to a witch's doom,
They matched her shining hair with flame--
But ever through the cloister's gloom
The mad monk babbles of her name!

And, when the red sun droppeth down
And wet sand gleameth ghostily,
Men see her weave a sea-weed crown
Between the twilight and the sea.




Fairy Singing


SHE was my love and the pulse of my heart;
Lovely she was as the flowers that start
Straight to the sun from the earth's tender breast,
Sweet as the wind blowing out of the west--
Elana, Elana, my strong one, my white one,
Soft be the wind blowing over your rest!