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A black carriage rushing through the mountains of |
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Carpathia. |
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The only passenger - the main character of this drama. |
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Titan wood and haunted hill, vales in which the wolf doth kill... |
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Wisps that in the morass glow mounts with diadems of snow... |
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Fog that swirls o'er moor and heath, the tawny owl sings from the trees... |
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From the ponds the old toad calls, this is where our drapery falls... |
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Eight hooves that pound the midnight groove... |
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Over stock and stone a carriage that winds upward the mountain pass, deep into the wild. |
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Crushing stone and shatt'ring bough under wooden wheel and moonlight breaks in spruce and fir and paints the night unreal. |
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With ruthless hand and turbid eyes the coachman drives his brute that snarls and sniffs but rushes on to escape that spook... |
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Six hours as the raven flies - still - to acquinted land... |
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Six hours till the sun wiil rise and morning shall ascent. - |
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Sleep my dear, don't bother thee with the idle talk of curse and evil blood that runeth in thy veins... - |
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In the cabin lies asleep unblessed by fevered dreams, traveller on his way home towards the sun's first beams... |
