NELLY TRIM

‘Like men riding, The mist from the sea Drives down the valley And baffles me.’ ‘Enter, traveller, Whoever you be.’ By lamplight confronted He staggered and peered; Like a wet bramble Was his beard. ‘Sit down, stranger, You look a-feared.’ Shudders rent him To the bone, The wet ran off him And speckled the stone. ‘Dost bide here alone, maid?’ ‘Yes, alone.’ As he sat down In the chimney-nook Over his shoulder He cast a look, As if the night Were pursuing; she took A handful of brash To mend the fire, He eyed her close As the flame shot higher; He spoke—and the cattle Moved in the byre. ‘Though you should heap Your fire with wood, ’Twouldn’t warm me, Nor do no good, Unless you first warm me As a maiden should.’ With looks unwavering, With breath unstirred, She took off her clothes Without a word; And stood up naked And white as a curd. He breathed her to him With famished sighs, Against her bosom He sheltered his eyes, And warmed his hands Between her thighs. Strangely assembled In the quiet room, Alone alight Amidst leagues of gloom, So brave a bride, So sad a groom; And strange love-traffic Between these two; Nor mean, nor shamefaced— As though they’d do Something more solemn Than they knew: As though by this greeting Which chance had willed ’Twixt him so silent And her so stilled, Some pledge or compact Were fulfilled, Made for all time In times unknown, ’Twixt man and woman Standing alone In mirk night By a tall stone. His wayfaring terrors All cast aside, Brave now the bridegroom Quitted the bride; As he came, departing— Undenied. But once from darkness Turned back his sight To where in the doorway She held a light: ‘Goodbye to you, maiden.’ ‘Stranger, good night.’ Long time has this woman Been bedded alone. The house where she dwelt Lies stone on stone: She’d not know her ash-tree, So warped has it grown. But yet this story Is told of her As a memorial; And some aver She’d comfort thus any Poor traveller. A wanton, you say— Yet where’s the spouse, However true To her marriage-vows, To whom the lot Of the earth-born allows More than this?— To comfort the care Of a stranger, bound She knows not where, And afraid of the dark, As his fathers were.