I heard the ghostly cannons roar
Beyond the world’s edge to the south;
Across the night black sea and shore
It echoed there behind, before,
Into a deep cave’s blackened mouth.
One caravan of ghosts displayed
Their ashen forms about the lea.
They shambled there, an odd parade,
Up toward the hillside’s sloping grade
Above that witch cursed haunted sea.
Tall harpies, iridescent, cold,
Would circle there around the lake.
Their wings all edged in gleaming gold,
Most stealthily they there patrolled
Those waters and each reedy brake.
One sorceress now, whole, entire,
Rose from that fen in gems arrayed.
I marked her wan chest there suspire,
Her huge eyes raged with roaring fire,
As I would tremble sore afraid.
Now from that fen, out of the mire,
She rose on wings of burnished brass,
Up, up a pale and glowing gyre,
She rose the quicker, fiercer, higher,
To then alight upon the grass.