In the dim sanctuary of the pines
The winds murmur their mysteries through dusky aisles--
Secrets of earth's renewal and the endless cycle of life.
Living things are afoot among the grasses;
The closed fingers of the ferns unfold,
New bees explore new flowers, and the brook
Pours virgin waters from the rushing founts of May.
In the old walls there are sinister voices--
The groans of women charged with witchcraft.
I see a lone, gray, haggard woman standing at bay,
Helpless against her grim, sin-darkened judges.
Terror blanches her lips and makes her confess
Bonds with demons that her heart knows not.
Satan sits by the judgment-seat and laughs.
The gray walls, broken, weatherworn oracles,
Sing that she was once a girl of love and laughter,
Then a fair mother with lullabies on her lips,
Caresses in her eyes, who spent her days
In weaving warmth to keep her brood against the winter cold.
And in her tongue was the law of kindness;
For her God was the Lord Jehovah.
Enemies uprose and swore her accused,
Laid at her door the writhing forms of little children,
And she could but answer: "The Evil One
Torments them in my shape.
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