The Goddess Poem by John Thorkild Ellison

In the meadow the flowers tinkle like tin,
Birds snigger in the trees
'You don't belong! '
(Blood running down the wall)
But what have I done wrong?
What makes these faces leer and grin?
Is there some talk of murder as evening shadows fall
Or is it some ancestral sin
That turns the mind and makes the skin of daylight crawl?

Thoughts of lurid nightmare can appall
The waking soul and seize
The sanest sense with madness
Until at last a voice speaks out:
'La belle Dame sans merci hath thee in thrall! '