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The Were-Wolf
By Madison Julius Cawein
SHE.
Nay; still amort, my love? Why dost thou lag?
HE.
The strix-owl cried.
SHE.
Nay! yon wild stream that leaps
Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps,
A moon-tipped water, down a glittering crag. -
Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop?
HE.
The demon-huntsman passed with hooting horn!
SHE.
Nay! 't was the blind wind sweeping through the thorn
Around the ruins of the Dumburg's top.
HE.
My limbs are cold.
SHE.
Come! warm thee in mine arms.
HE.
Mine eyes are weary.
SHE.
Rest them, love, on mine.
HE.
I am athirst.
SHE.
Quench on my lips thy thirst. -
O dear belovéd, how thy last kiss warms
My blood again!
HE.
Off!... How thy eyeballs shine!
Thy face!... thy form!... So do I die accursed!
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