Monday, August 25

The Norns

Three women, sensuous faces all,
In netted fabrics shift,
Their fingers pulling taut fine threads,
Their mouths in sanguine, lusty red;
Diverse their voices drift.

Through eyes of marble, jet-veined black,
Through bones and branches, they
Conspire in their siren glow
To mastermind a bestial show;
Midnightish blue holds sway.

Miasmic gleam, sweet dream beguiles!
So delicate the moon
Delineates ethereal limbs
In contrast with complexions grim,
Wandering this lagoon.

If by this spectral séance pass
Ill-fated eye or ear,
A line of goassamer so fine—
Quick measure, cut the tie divine!—
Farewell, oh sad sightseer.

And fast in monstrous fantasy
With scream and horror reveal
Three women, haggard faces all,
Their moist, decrepit mouths appall;
False fates no more concealed. 

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