Soldiers of the light

by Helen Gray Cone

When Gruach loosens her long hair

Midnight-black on her shoulders bare,

And sinks to the comfort of despair;

At the witches’ hour, when the shadows swell

As the swinging cressets flare,

And the small swart crickets harp and harp

On the tune remembered, torturing-sharp,

And the sobbing owlets wake,—

The diamond in the dark

Draws, draws her, like the spark