The afternoon took its time

as the yews and the planes drew back

to guard the velvet borders

and guide a rivulet of dimming light

to tame the creeping life that dwelt therein

before the advent of spreading night.

 

Through that door as oft before

my silent presence went alone

and by the lantern's prickling gaze

adjusted to the whispering hall

and now the sylvan windows threw

a tapestry of patterns on the staircase wall

 

and, as silent as a human I climb

no breath upon my aspen frame

to where the master sleeps alone

for well I might in vengeance tread

and vapour drawn to the pressing chamber

fill the master full of dread

 

and, in my haunting watch his restless soul

tormented by his dreadful deed

in bringing me to this place to die

by violent thrusts of his filthy sword

and send me thus to that darker place

where yet I seek the love of the Lord.

 

No peace lies there to give me rest

and in this fretful house I dwell

most times, as though my life is here

to revel in the master's schemes

and by earthly skills made cosmic keen

enjoy his black and festering dreams.

 

My simple hope is born on wings

that soon his wretched body fails

and in the anguish of his death

I'll watch and wait for the final twist

and, having no pressing time to fill

rejoice in anguish and the final breath.