Dark Joan

Nora Hopper Chesson

1871 to 1906

Poem Image

As old as Time is, as cold as a stone, 
I go on my journey, Dark Joan, Dark Joan. 
My cap is made of a quicken-leaf, 
And withered it is, my grief, my grief! 
My eyes are dark, but they see the soul, 
And where Time reads half I can read the whole. 

As sad as Death is, I go on my way 
And sow, though for harvest I must not stay: 
By the Good Folk's passing my face is fanned, 
Yet I must not dance in their idle band: 
In the raths I hear them, my kindly kin, 
But the sorrowful cabins they call me in.