THE rowan tree grows by the tower foot,

(Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,

Can the dead feel joy or pain?)

And the owls in the ivy blink and hoot,

The ladye sits in the turret alone,

(Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,

The dead—can they complain?)

And her long hair down to her knee has grown,

And her hand is cold as a hand of stone,

And wan as a hand of flesh may be,

While the bird in the bower sings merrily.

(Hark to the wind and rain!)

Sadly she leans by her casement side,

(Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,

Can the dead arise again?)

And watcheth the ebbing and flowing tide,

But her eye is dim, and the sea is wide;

The fisherman's sail and the cloud flies free,

And the bird is mute in the rowan tree.

(Hark to the wind and the rain!)

The moon shone in on the turret stair,

(Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,

The dead are bound with a chain.)

And touched her cheek and brightened her hair,

And found naught else in the world so fair,

So ghostly fair as the mad ladye,

While the bird in the bower sang lonesomely.

(Hark to the wind and the rain!)

The weary days and the months crept on,

(Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,

The words of the dead are vain.)

At last the summer was over and gone,

And still she sat in her turret alone,

Her white hands clasping about her knee,

And the bird was mute in the rowan tree.

(Hark to the wind and the rain!)

Wild was the sound of the wind and the sleet,

(Flotsam and jetsam from over the sea,

The dead—do they walk again?)

Wilder the roar of the surf that beat;

Whose was the form that it bore to her feet,

Swayed with the swell of the unquiet sea,

While the raven croaked in the rowan tree?

(Hark to the wind and the rain!)

O Ladye, strange is the silent guest—

(Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,

Can the dead feel sorrow or pain?)

With the sea-drenched locks and the pulseless breast,

And the close-shut lips which thine have pressed,

And the wild sad eyes that heed not thee,

While the raven croaks in the rowan-tree.

(Hark to the wind and the rain!)

The tower is dark, and the doors are wide,

(Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,

The dead are at peace again.)

Into the harbor the fisher boats ride,

But two went out with the ebbing tide,

Without sail, without oar, full fast and free,

And the raven croaks in the rowan tree.

(Hark to the wind and the rain!)