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By Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861 - 1907)


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.


Looking at how witches are portrayed in poetry, from WITCH by Rebecca Tamás to the three crones in MacBeth, we will be creating our own prosodic covens.


This is a three week online course. When you choose to buy this course, we will contact you after purchase to arrange a time to begin which suits you. You can choose between annotated responses to your poems sent to you via email, or live discussion via google hangouts (a gmail email is free and easy to sign up for).


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