Classic Poem

None of our village would he wed,
My son, but brought across the sea
A woman with loose locks of red
To brew my wine and make my bread
And take a daughter's place with me.

Her eyes are darker than the night
When lightning flames across the wold;
Her flesh is white as curds are white,
Her form is of a strong man's height
And red her mouth as dæmon's gold.

She will not sew; she will not spin;
She heeds no word of aught I say;
And her curved smile is like a sin
When—(lest my son's ship ne'er come in)
I say old prayers for him each day.

At hearth and board her place is set;
Of my son's bed she hath her share—
(He hath been long away)—and yet
No tears have made her strange eyes wet,
And not to any god her prayer.

My son is mighty among men,
Strong-armed and fair and passing wise,
Who had no thought for maids. Where, then,
Found he this one of all women
To lure him with her stormy eyes?

I know she is no mortal maid,
But one of whom my granddam told,
Born of strange sins and, netlike, laid
To catch men's lives, and, unafraid,
Drink of their blood and leave them cold.

For see! That month I watched her first
(For my son's sake I did this thing)
I knew her for a witch accursed,
One in a pool of sin immersed
And wedded with a devil's ring.

Because I made and gave her name
A waxen form, and three times three
Long nights it melted by the flame;
Yet every morn she woke the same,
And smiled upon me cunningly.

And all this day I watched her stand
High-poised between the sea and sky;
With turn and waving of her hand
I know what ship she draws to land,
What storms she brews to drive it by.

Ere that ship comes is much to do,
(For my son's sake I must be bold);
She thinks to have her feast anew,
To stain her mouth a redder hue
And drain his blood for her hair's gold.

Here at my spinning do I sit
And say no word, but, sick with dread,
Plan snares to foil her awful wit
With book and bell, or, failing it,
Find if a witch's blood be red.

The ship draws near, and to and fro
There goes a swinging in my brain;
Two kissed my son and watched him go—
Mother or witch, I dare not know
Which one will bid him home again.