THE WITCH
THEY—the good people—heard her song
From out of the wood that grows thick in the valley.
She had climbed to the hill-top that rises, blue,
Out of the wood as one comes through.
Grass on the hill-top waving long,
And a smooth gray stone where she kept her tally
Of the years and the days in the wild singing wood.
She lived her life as a virgin should
Till the people heard her song.
They climbed the hill and they frowned and said
“We liked your songs that we heard in the valley.
We don’t like that one you are singing to-day!
It’s mad and it’s bad and it’s much too gay!
But we’ve brought you some meat and bread.”
Then they saw on the stone her tally,
And they shook their heads ... “Look here! Look here!
Oh it’s very very plain she is queer ... mad queer!”
And they took her away on that self-same day,
Though she fought till she lay half-dead.
Now all she had written on the smooth gray stone
Were the strange magic things (O the deep blue wings!)
That happen in a wild, singing wood.
But they said “She hasn’t lived as a virgin should ...
When she dies she shall lie on the hill for good.”
And they laid her there, with her soft black hair
Strained back from her dead white brow.
“We will set at her head for a tombstone now
This stone where she kept mad tally!”
But she laughed as she sped from that hill-top bed
And roamed through the wood and the valley ...
“Oh wild blue wings I am free” (sang she)
“Now I own the singing wood and the wood owns me,
Oh the hill-top too and the valley!
They gave back my stone and they’ve left me alone ...
I am free! I am free! I am free!”