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.