JOAN EVANS
Reading edition
(
ST. HUGH'S
)
THE HAMADRYAD
Her flitting form is slim and pale As beechen stems at night, Her hair is dark as barren trees Against the moon's pale light. Her dreadful seeking hands are curved Like chestnut buds in spring; Against her bosom close she holds A dove with frightened wing. We may not see her as she goes Over the leaf-strewn moss; But see the russet leaves are stirred, Feel some strange sense of loss. We cannot see her cold sad eyes Filled with a craving pain— We only hear upon the leaves Patter of April rain.