"The wild leaves rustle, the wild leaves flee;
Come hither, Maurine, to the hollow tree!
"To the trysting tree, to the tree once green;
Come hither, Maurine! come hither, Maurine!" ...
They found her closed in his armored arms—
Had he claimed his bride on that night of storms?
Morgan le
Fay
In dim samite was she bedight,
And on her hair a hoop of gold,
Like fox-fire in the tawn moonlight,
Was glimmering cold.
With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered;
With soft red lips she sang a song:
What knight might gaze upon her face,
Nor fare along?
For all her looks were full of spells,
And all her words of sorcery;
And in some way they seemed to say
"Oh, come with me!
"Oh, come with me! oh, come with me!
Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!"—
How should he know the witch, I trow,
Morgan le Fay?