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The Witch · Ririro.com - Poetry

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  Speaker 1: The witch trapped amid the woods with guile, they've led her,
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  Speaker 1: bound in fetter's vile, to death, a deadlier sorceress than
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  Speaker 1: any born for Earth's distress since first the winner of
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  Speaker 1: the fleece bore home the Colchian witch to Greece. Seven
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  Speaker 1: months with snare and gin, they've sought the maid overwise
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  Speaker 1: within the forest's labyrinthine shade. The lonely woodman, half afraid,
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  Speaker 1: far off her ragged form, has seen sauntering down the
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  Speaker 1: alley's green, or crouched in godless prayer alone at eve
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  Speaker 1: before a druid stone. But now the bitter chase is won.
• 0:47
  Speaker 1: The quarries caught her. Magic's done. The bishops brought her
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  Speaker 1: strongest spell to nought with candle, book and bell, with
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  Speaker 1: holy water splashed upon her. She goes to burning and dishonor,
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  Speaker 1: too deeply damned to feel her shame. For though beneath
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  Speaker 1: her hair of flame, her thoughtful head be lowly bowed,
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  Speaker 1: it droops for meditation, proud, impenitent and pondering. Yet things
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  Speaker 1: no memory can forget, starry wonders she has seen brooding
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  Speaker 1: in the wild wood green with holiness. For who can
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  Speaker 1: say in what strange crew she loved to play? What
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  Speaker 1: demons or what gods of old deep mysteries unto her
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  Speaker 1: have told at dead of night in worship, bent at
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  Speaker 1: ruined shrines magnificent, Or how the quivering will she sent
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  Speaker 1: alone into the Great, alone, where all is loved and
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  Speaker 1: all is known. Who now lifts up her maiden eyes
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  Speaker 1: and looks around with soft surprise upon the noisy, crowded
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  Speaker 1: square the city oafs that gnaw, and stare the bishop's
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  Speaker 1: court that gathers there, the faggots, and the blackened steak,
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  Speaker 1: where sinners die for justice sake. Now she is set
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  Speaker 1: upon the pile. The mob grows still a little while,
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  Speaker 1: till lo before the eager folk up curls a thin
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  Speaker 1: blue line of smoke, alas the full fed burghers cry
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  Speaker 1: that evil loveliness must die