She mutters and stoops by the lone bayou
The little green leaves are hushed on the trees
An owl in an oak cries"Who-oh-who,"
And a fox barks back where the moon slants through
The moss that sways to a sudden breeze'
Or That she sees,
Whose eyes are coals in the light o' the moon.
"Soon, oh, soon," hear her croon,
" Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!"
She mutters and kneels and her bosom is bare
The little green leaves are stirred on the trees
A black bat brushes her unkempt hair,
And the hiss of a snake glides 'round her there'
Or is it the voice of the ghostly breeze,
Or That she sees,
Whose mouth is flame in the light o' the moon?
"Soon, oh, soon," hear her croon,
"Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!"
She mutters and digs and buries it deep
The little green leaves are wild on the trees
And nearer and nearer the noises creep,
That gibber and maunder and whine and weep'
Or is it the wave and the weariless breeze,
Or That she sees,
Which hobbles away in the light o' the moon?
"Soon, oh, soon," hear her croon,
"Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!"
In the hut where the other girl sits with him
The little green leaves hang limp on the trees
All on a sudden the moon grows dim'
Is it the shadow of cloud or of limb,
Cast in the door by the moaning breeze?
Or That she sees,
Which limps and leers in the light o' the moon?
"Soon, oh, soon," hear it croon,
"Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!"
It has entered in at the open door
The little green leaves fall dead from the trees
And she in the cabin lies stark on the floor,
And she in the woods has her lover once more'
And is it the hoot of the dying breeze?
Or him who sees,
Who mocks and laughs in the light o' the moon:
"Soon, oh, soon," hear him croon,
"Woe, oh, woe to the octoroon!"