Classic Poem

A dream of awful mystery
Appalled and yet delighted me.
Shapes hideous float before me still,
And in my heart dim horrors thrill.

A wondrous garden was the place
Wherein I thought at ease to pace;
A wealth of flowers the garden had
Which smiled on me, and made me glad.

The little birds were chattering all
Their merry lovers' madrigal;
The blazing sun shot rays of gold
On blooms of tincture manifold.

And spicy scents from herbage flow;
Softly and sweet the zephyrs blow;
And all things glint and all things smile,
And show their loveliness the while.

Within this blooming land midway
A limpid marble fountain lay,
O'er which a beauteous damsel bent,
On washing some white robe intent.

With eyes so mild, with cheeks so fair,
A pictured saint with golden hair.
And as I gazed it seemed that she
Was strange, and yet well known to me.

The bonny maid, she works away;
She sings a wondrous roundelay:
“Ripple, ripple, brooklet bright,
Wash my linen fair and white.”

Forward I moved, and drawing near,
“Tell me,” I whispered in her ear,
“O damsel sweet and wondrous fair,
For whom is this white garment rare?”

“Make ready soon,” swift answered she,
“A shroud I'm washing now—for Thee!”
And lo, the word was hardly said
When like a bubble all was sped.


The magic lasted. Soon I stood
Within a gloomy, savage wood;
Heav'n-high the trees around up-raught,
I stood amazed, and thought and thought.

And hark! dull echoes clang around
Like distant hatchets' hewing sound;
Through brake and briar I hurried fast
And reached an open space at last.

Where 'mid the green the space was cleared
A giant oak his branches reared;
And lo, upon the sturdy oak
That same strange maid dealt many a stroke.

And never resting, blow on blow,
She swung the axe, and murmur'd low:
“Iron clink, iron clank,
Shape a chest of good oak-plank.”

Forward I moved, and drawing near,
“Tell me,” I whispered in her ear,
“O little damsel loveliest,
For whom mak'st thou this oaken chest?”

“No time to lose!” swift answer'd she,
“A coffin 'tis I make—for Thee!”
And lo, the word was hardly said
When like a bubble all was sped.


It stretched out wan, it stretched out wide,
Bare, barest moor on every side;
Scarce knowing what I felt or saw,
I trembling paused in spell-bound awe.

And soon as farther on I hied
A streak of gleaming white I spied;
I sped with all the speed I might,
And lo! it was that damsel bright.

On the wide heath stood the white maid,
Deep delving in the earth, with spade.
To look on her I almost feared,
She was so fair, and yet so weird.

The bonny maid she works away,
She sings a wondrous roundelay:
“Sharp and broad, good spade, good spade,
That a deep broad trench be made.”

Forward I moved, and drawing near,
“Tell me?” I whispered in her ear,
“O damsel sweet and wondrous fair,
What means the hole thou delvest there?”

And swift she answered: “Hush, poor fool!
I dig a grave for Thee, so cool!”
Scarce did these words the fair maid shape,
When lo! the trench was wide agape.

And as I gazed into the hole
Chill horror shivered through my soul.
I plunged into the hideous deep,
And as I plunged—I woke from sleep.