Lady, weeping at the crossroads,
Would you meet your
In the twilight with his greyhounds,
And the hawk on his glove?
Bribe the birds then on the branches,
Bribe them to be dumb,
Stare the hot sun out of
That the night may come.
Starless are the nights of travel,
Bleak the winter wind;
Run with terror all before
And regret behind.
Run until you hear the
Everlasting cry;
Deep though it may be and
You must drink it dry,
Wear out patience in the
Dungeons of the sea,
Searching through the stranded
For the golden key,
Push on to the world's end, pay
Dread guard with a kiss,
Cross the rotten bridge that
Over the abyss.
There stands the deserted
Ready to explore;
Enter, climb the marble staircase,
Open the locked door.
Cross the silent ballroom,
Doubt and danger past;
Blow the cobwebs from the
See yourself at last.
Put your hand behind the wainscot,
You have done your part;
Find the penknife there and plunge
Into your false heart.
April 1940
