I HAVE walked a great while over the snow, <br />And I am not tall nor strong. <br />My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set, <br />And the way was hard and long. <br />I have wandered over the fruitful earth, <br />But I never came here before. <br />Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door! <br /> <br />The cutting wind is a cruel foe. <br />I dare not stand in the blast. <br />My hands are stone, and my voice a groan, <br />And the worst of death is past. <br />I am but a little maiden still, <br />My little white feet are sore. <br />Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door! <br /> <br />Her voice was the voice that women have, <br />Who plead for their heart's desire. <br />She came--she came--and the quivering flame <br />Sunk and died in the fire. <br />It never was lit again on my hearth <br />Since I hurried across the floor, <br />To lift her over the threshold, and let her in at the door.<br /><br />Mary Elizabeth Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-witch/
