I shall lie hidden in a hut
—In the middle of an alder wood,
With the back door blind and bolted shut,
—And the front door locked for good.

I shall lie folded like a saint,
—Lapped in a scented linen sheet,
On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint,
—Narrow and cold and neat.

The midnight will be glassy black
—Behind the panes, with wind about
To set his mouth against a crack
—And blow the candle out.