The Elven Queen
(Respectfully dedicated to Terry Pratchett, to the British class system, and to the icy clarity of stars on a bitter mountain night)
She rides upon a snow-white swan And stars shine in her eyes. Upon her head a silver crown, The elven-queen goes by. All gold is her possession, And all the lust of men. But love she can not know, until The world is whole again. Beneath her gaze, all mortal men Fall trembling to their knees; All women pale with secret dread Lest they should fail to please. Ice-cold, her laughter, breaking glass, Contempt for those beneath her class, So noble in her viciousness, It’s more than eyes can see - Run fast, my friend! Find shelter! When She whispers, “Come with me…” Your doors and windows, bolt them tight, Bank up the fire against the night, Take shield in left hand, sword in right, Against Her Majesty to fight. And know yourself already lost, The moment that your paths have crossed: Nor self nor kin can any save, Though he be bravest of the brave. And when She taps upon your door Will you rush out with wordless roar Like fish that bite upon the lure? And see your children never more? She rides upon a snow-white swan And stars shine in her eyes. Upon her head a silver crown, The elven-queen goes by. |
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