The Green and the Dark by Michael Burgess
Sing to me of the withered tree
and I'll follow thee
as a haunting ghost.
Dance with me round fell Winter's tree
and I'll make for thee
a holly wreath.
Upon your brow, like a stony howe,
lies the broken crown
of Summer's Green.
The frosty web of the Greenwood's ebb
falls dimly red
on the bark beneath.
My shadow hight the Robe of Night,
my form shall fright
the deeping stream;
And where the snow doth fain to go,
I'll cruelly blow
the lightest dream.
The woods are mine, and leaves entwined
with plants that bind
the earth to me.
I live alone by tree and stone,
The Green my throne,
the Green my crown.
The darkness bare enfolds your hair;
I am to thee.
Your eyes are cold as caverns old:
as rotting mold
you cast me down.
But I'll sing thee of the golden tree
and the honeybee
and the elven-hood,
when the world was young and the harp new-strung
and songs were sung
of the deathless wood.
No more for thee the golden tree
or the droning bee
in the fading wood.
No more the stone, nor more the stone,
your leafy throne
has crumbled now.
Your hair is moss, your flowers lost
in deepening frost
from valleys cold.
Enchantment's gone, the Greenwood's done,
how pale and wan
your summer crown.
In deepest dark, I slay the lark,
and strip the bark
from every tree.
The night is mine, where roads are blind,
the earth I bind,