GREEN grew the reeds and pale they were,
And all the sunless grass was gray;
The sluggish coils of marsh-water
Dripped thickly over root and stone;
In the deep woods there was no day,
No day within them, shine or sun,
Only the night alway.

And evermore the cypresses
Against the cold sky rocked and swung;
The lurching of the high, black trees,
Their sprawling black tops tossed and flung
Against the sky. She made a hut
Of dripping stone and wattled clay,
And the small window-space was shut
With woven reeds, green and gray.

The comely stars paced soberly
In the blue gardens overhead,

And morn and eve the housing sky
Shifted in blue and gold and red;
But She who dwelt in the stone hut
Knew not these things; on gathered

knees