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THE WITCH-MAID
The thousand slender tree-stems soon hid the way she went
As they who hold a secret and therewith are content.
The dead man smiled in silence; a strange thought in me said,
If I had heard her speak at all then I too should be dead:
Her voice—what would her voice be?—and then I fled, afraid,
The spell was loosed that bound me to the evil glade.
O the flowers in the grass,
The wood-dove in the tree;
From magic and from sudden death, Good Lord deliver me!
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