All the winter I have lain here,

And heard the big wind tug at the door,

And throb in the loophole, scare the mice

That scurry and pause beneath the floor;

And felt my heart leap up in fear

At every sound, and seen men’s eyes

Wide in amazement when I start

And shudder, twitching arms and thighs.

For none of them can tell what heart

Should make me pale and moist with sweat,

Even to think of one good stroke

I gave in battle once, or met;

Or how in such a fear I woke

That day the witch came to my rest,

And with her bony hand laid bare

And stole the brave heart from my breast.

She took the knight’s heart beating there,

And left me another, the heart of a hare.

I crawl to the loophole, peep with care:

The sun shines, pale blue hills are bare,

Bright rivers rush from melting snows.

One dark pine rises up beneath,

Where the black stork built last year,

And blue-black woods beyond the heath

Are overflown by rooks and crows.

And there I hear the hounds at bay,

So far, that I can hear and bear,

And follow the horn blown far away,

And quake in longing and despair.