The Enchanted Castle

To Edgar Allan Poe

Old crumbling stones set long ago uponThe naked headland of a suave green shore.Old stones all riven into cracks and glandsBy moss and ivy. Up above, a peakOf narrow, iron windows, a hooded towerWith frozen windows looking to the West.When the sun sets, a winking, fiery lightRifles the window-panes above the gloomOf purple waters heaving evenly,Waters moving about the naked headlandIn sombre slowness, with no dash of sprayTo strike the stagnant pools and flash the weeds.A rack of shifting cloudsDarkens the waters' margin. On the shoreAre clusters of great trees whose brittle leavesCrackle together as the mournful windTakes them and shakes them. But the tower windowsFling bloody streams of light across the dusk,Planges of bloody light which the upper skyHas hurled at them and now is drawing back.Behind the tower, where no windows are,A little wisp of moon catches the stonesSo that they glitter palely from the shore,The suave green shore with all its leaden trees.