But one clear night in the winter's heart,
I wandered out to that place apart.
The shafts of smoke went up to the stars,
Straight as the Northern Streamer spars,
From the town's white roofs, so still it was.
The night in her dream let no word pass,
Nor ever a breath that one could feel;
Only the snow shrieked under my heel.
Yet it seemed when I reached the poplar hole,
The ghost of a voice was crying, "Skoal!
"Rouse thee and drink, for the well is sweet,
And the crystal snow is good to eat!"
I heeded little, but stooped on my knee,
And ate of a handful dreamily.
'Twas cool to the mouth and slaking at first,
But the lure of it was ill for thirst.
The voice cried, "Soul of the mortal span,
Art thou not of the Kelpie clan?"
"What are you doing there in the ground,
Kelpie rider, and never a sound
"To roam the night but the ghost of a cry?"
Ringing and swift there came reply,
"He is asleep where thou art afraid,
In the tawny arms of a goblin maid!"
Then I knew the voice was the voice of a girl,
And I marvelled much (while a little swirl
Of snow leaped up far off on the plain
Of sparkling dust and died again),
For what do the cloisters know, think ye,
Of women's ways? They be hard to see.
Again the voice cried, "Kin of my kin,
The child of the Sun shall win, shall win!"
'Twas an evil weird that so befell;
Yet I leaned and drank of the bubbling well.
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