"The Witch" (A Poem)

Published in 1893 within Gathered Leaves, Mary Elizabeth Coleridge’s poem “The Witch” is a dramatic dialogue between a witch wandering through the winter wilderness and the hapless victim who welcomes her within their home. The first two stanzas are spoken by the witch, masquerading as a beautiful maiden, as she begs for someone to let her into their house. The final stanza is spoken by her victim, who has allowed the witch inside and witnesses the flames of their fire extinguish (a metaphor for their life).  

 

I have walked a great while over the snow,
And I am not tall nor strong.
My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set,
And the way was hard and long.
I have wandered over the fruitful earth,
But I never came here before.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

The cutting wind is a cruel foe.
I dare not stand in the blast.
My hands are stone, and my voice a groan,
And the worst of death is past.
I am but a little maiden still,
My little white feet are sore.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

Her voice was the voice that women have,
Who plead for their heart’s desire.
She came – she came – and the quivering flame
Sunk and died in the fire.
It never was lit again on my hearth
Since I hurried across the floor,
To lift her over the threshold, and let her in at the door.[1]

Works Referenced

Coleridge, Mary Elizabeth. “The Witch.” Fancy’s Following. Portland, ME: Thomas B Mosher, 1900. 53-54.
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[1] Coleridge, 53-54.