Lady In The Mist Poem by David Lewis Paget

The 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.

21 December 2012