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Words: 12160 in 6 pages
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Does he fear the tumult of clanging blows, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, darker still is the fear he knows To-night, O Vanathee.
Does he fear the loss of wife or child, Grey Rider of the Shee? Nay, a terror holds him that's still more wild To-night, O Vanathee.
O what should make him so sore afraid, Grey Rider of the Shee? He fears a wraith that himself has made To-night, O Vanathee.
Then how shall you cleanse from fear his mind, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his eyes, and they shall be blind To-night, O Vanathee.
Yet still may he know the voice of fear, Grey Rider of the Shee? I will touch his ears that he shall not hear To-night, O Vanathee.
Yet that wraith may linger around his bed, Grey Rider of the Shee? No terror shall touch the quiet dead To-night, O Vanathee.
JOAN THE MAID
Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, with her great sword girt at her side; Sheen of wings and shimmer of angel faces Gather around her as she on doth ride.
Rheims or Orleans may see her thus in splendour, Never the old Domremy streets she knew, Here she walks as a maiden, shy and slender, Brushing with bare brown feet the evening dew.
Oft do the children, playing in the meadows, See her watching them, white and very fair, Smiling lips and eyes that dream in the shadows, Lilies of France she loved so in her hair.
So she comes, through those quiet roadways stealing, Where in the grey church still her people bend, Unto the Maiden, their own saint, appealing; Hears them name her saviour of France and friend.
She has forgotten now the mocking faces, Prison, and wounds, and torture of the flame; Still, they say, she moves through the old-time places, Joan the Maid, whence once, long since, she came.
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