Lady in the MistA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe
day was bleak and the Tor was steep As
I walked up to the crest, The
tower of St. Michael’s Church stood gaunt And
I stared, as if obsessed, The
myths lay thick on the countryside And
surrounded me as they grew, And
I hoped that I might see Avalon By
the side of the River Brue. I
thought I could hear the clash of steel In
the valley, down below, The
sound of a sword on a buckler shield But
the mist obscured the show, The
sun lay on the horizon as It
had done for a thousand years, When
Guinevere lay with Lancelot, And
she woke to her husband’s tears. I
thought I’d better get off the Tor As
the light was growing dim, The
mist a-swirl in the fields below, I’d
be lost if the night set in, I
made my way down the southern slope ‘Til
I came to a wooden bridge, And
a lake that I hadn’t seen before From
St. Michael’s, up on the ridge. Around
the lake was a swampy ground Where
the reeds in profusion grew, Climbed
up the bank of the silent lake And
glistened with mist and dew, I’d
barely taken a dozen steps On
the bridge, when I heard a sigh, And
the lilting voice of a woman there As
she walked on the other side. She
was dressed in a long and trailing cloak With
a hood pulled over her face, And
she seemed to drift on the further shore With
unworldly poise and grace, She
saw me then, and she stopped and turned And
she pointed into the mere, Where
the water was only inches deep, Then
she seemed to disappear. I
rubbed at my eyes in disbelief, I
must have been seeing things, There
was nothing there but the mist, the mere And
the fear that silence brings, I
heard the jangle of armour then And
footsteps on the bridge, But
nothing to see, the bridge was clear Though
the sound had made me flinch. I
looked out over the water there As
a hand and an arm appeared, Just
where the woman had pointed to Before
she disappeared, I
seemed to see the whirling shape Of
a sword, flung into the mist, And
the hand in the lake had caught it, Held
it aloft on a slender wrist. I
blinked just once, the sword had gone, And
the lake was undisturbed, I
shook my head in confusion then At
the sight and the sounds I’d heard, I
waded into the water there And
made for the self-same spot, I
needed to satisfy myself If
the sword was there, or not! The
water was only inches deep And
clear as a crystal spring, It
didn’t take me a moment there To
see what my search would bring, An
ancient sword on the surface there That
I reached on down to hold, But
found it was gripped by a skeletal hand Wedged
deep in the mud and mould. I
pulled and the bones released their grip So
I held the sword on high, It
was badly eaten away with rust In
the years it was left to lie, Then
I heard a sound on the nearer bank And
I turned to look in her face, The
woman I’d seen in the cloak and hood, Who’d
moved with unearthly grace. She
stared at me with a look sublime But
she never uttered a word, She
reached on out and I found that I Was
handing over the sword, As
she held it up, it gleamed and shone Though
her hands were bare to the bone, Then
I knew the sword was Excalibur, It
was going back to the stone. She
turned and drifted into the mist Was
lost in the darkening night, I
somehow knew that I couldn’t go Where
the dreams and the myths unite, She’s
one with the knights and Bedivere, With
Arthur, where he has gone, To
sleep in the mists of chivalry By
the waters of Avalon. David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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