WEBVTT

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"The Magnet."

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"I love my lord, my
black-haired lord.

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My young love, thin-faced,
pointed like a fox.

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And he, singing and
sighing, with the bawdy

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went crying up the hounds.

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Through the thicket he
leaped, through bramble,

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and crossed the river on rocks.

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And there alongside the sheep
and among the ewes and lambs

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with terrible sleep he
cunningly laid his hoax.

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Ah, fey, and ill-gotten and
wicked his tender heart.

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Even as they with their
baths and their niggles

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rumped up the thistle and
bit with their delicate teeth

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the flowers and the
seeds and the leaf.

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He leaped with the cry as
coarse as the herders, 'Come,

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I will start.

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Come down, my
pretties, and dance

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to the hunting horn and the
slit of your throbbing throats,

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and make me a coat out of grief.

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And they danced.

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He was fey.

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And they danced.

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And the coat they
made turned all

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of an innocent mind and a
single love into beasts afraid.

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Was it I called him back?

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Was it hunger?

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Was it the world?

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Not my tears, not those
cries of the murdered,

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but 'twas the fox hid
in the woods who called.

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And the smell of the
fox burned in his mind,

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the fox in his den smiling.

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Around his red body his fine
plume curled out of the valley

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and across the river.

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Leaving the sheep's hair,
he left the maligned flocks.

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I heard him coming
through brambles,

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through narrow forests.

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I bid my nights unwind.

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I bid my days turn back.

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I broke my windows.

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I unsealed my locks.

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