Page 23 - Contrast1966
P. 23
the w poem
Back to the Wold, to the wild Wold,
And the wind on the Wold
And the wolves in the wind;
Winter wolves wailing hunger to a wan Moon.
West drives the wind, over snow-scoured wastes,
West, howling woe to the world;
And the wayfarer winces at the whip of the wind,
Wrapped though he is in his heavy cloak.
He wends his way on; whence did he come?
The wise do not wander when the world lies in winter,
But wait by the fire with their wooing and wine
While the terror of winter walks on the land.
Why does one man walk forth in the Wold?
He walks forth to war. The watchword is war.
War on the world to wrest it from men,
To overwhelm them with wrath.
Where the whirlwind weaves the web of the witch king
Weapons are wrought and tempered in blood.
The wraiths cry "Wanion!" and the werewolf laughs.
Whither will you go, unwary ones,
When the winged wyvern descends on your hold
And the dread Worms of fire bring you death?
Who will weep for the waif and the widow
''''ho wander in want from the wreck of their homes?
"Stick him again! Watch the wretch wriggle!"
Where the woods stood tall.ยท
''''illWhere the willows whispered together over the wide river,
be nothing but waste for the rain to wash clean.
21
