The Gray Sisters

What is that which walks by night In flying tatters of leaves and weeds, When the clouds rush by like daemon steeds, And the moon is a jack-o'-lantern light Low in the pool's dark reeds? What is that, like a soul who sinned? Is it a witch? or the Autumn wind? What is that which sits and glowers Under the trees by the forest pool? With a cloak of moss whence the raindrops drule, Chilling the air with a sense of showers And touch of the cold toadstool: What is that, with its breath of gloom? Is it a witch? or the Fall perfume? What is that in a mantle of gray, With rags, like water, that wreathe and wind? That gropes the forest, as if to find A path, long-lost, on its midnight way, Shadowy, old and blind: What is that, so white and whist? Is it a witch? or the Autumn mist? You may have met them; you may have heard; As I have heard them; as I have met: The three gray sisters of wind and wet Each With a spell or a cryptic word Working her magic yet: The three gray sisters, the witches old, Daughters of Autumn, who haunt the wold.