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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required One thousand nights I’ve ridden toward the border in the gloom Upon my stallion, Strident, at a gallop, past the fence. Yet, never have I left the inner sanctum of this room For tho’ my horse is willing, t’is I who have no confidence. Remembering the figure of the woman in the glade Dressed in robes of silver with embroidery of pearl, A face of finest porcelain by light of dusk betrayed That figure was nor woman-- No-- nor ordinary girl! Me thinks I heard a ditty, in a poem or a song, That revealed the story of the spectre bedecked in shining clothes, Which seeks a living soldier, as it simply walks along, In glowing, dazzling silver from her head-dress to her toes. And how she charms the soldier, and he follows her, t'is said, And once he sees her silver face, he’s all but surely dead. And so I did resist the dream of riding in the gloom Upon my stallion, Strident, toward the wood and through the glade To see the shining woman, for I knew t’would be my tomb-- Still I called upon the devil for a bargain to be made. And the devil, he did answer, and came fast to my rescue And swore him to protect me from the silver woman’s due. Thus, this night I’ve saddled Strident and am for the battle dressed For if I give my life to her, there’ll be no eternal rest. We should walk in shade and shadow, with her silver robes in train And walk the glade forever in the sunshine or in rain, Nought but walk the fields and forests and the meadows and the glen-- As she charms the simple soldiers and the heartiest of men. So, on my fellow, Strident, as I draw my silver sword And lay we low this silver dame, but utter not a word! Marianne Frederick August 19, 2008
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