Yesterday evening, Harriet Goodchild initiated a twitter duel, drawing on some of the beautiful imagery she uses in her novels. This is my bit, tidied up and with the blanks filled in.
He stands before the casement tightly closed.
“Open to me, love, for the night is bright.”
She sees him framed in moonlight, hollow-eyed,
And bars the door against the fearful night.
She shivers in the chilly wind that blows,
From the deeps beyond the evening star,
She hears him call her out to join the dance,
“Open, love,” he says, “for I have come so far.”
“You bring a breath of winter, love,” she says,
“Hoar frost glitters in your tangled hair,
The night stars all are frozen in the sky,
Though sweet summer’s breath was in the evening air.”
He waves his hand and starlight fills the dark,
Burning bright with passion where he stands.
“Look again, deny it if you can,
The yearning in your heart to take my hands.”
She hesitates and looks around her room,
At the homely fire burning in the grate,
And sees her life among the dancing flames,
Consumed in ash where love has come too late.
She listens to the stirring of her blood,
Looks out upon the deep and starry night.
She sees the wild abandon in the sky,
And takes love’s hands to join its savage flight.