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THE WOODS OF WESTERMAIN.
11
Wrangling, howsoe'er remote,
Discords out of discord spin
Round and round derisive din:
Sudden will a pallor pant
Chill at screeches miscreant;
Owls or spectres, thick they flee;
Nightmare upon horror broods;
Hooded laughter, monkish glee,
Gaps the vital air.
Enter these enchanted woods
You who dare.
IV.
You must love the light so well
That no darkness will seem fell.
Love it so you could accost
Fellowly a livid ghost.
