Ruin of St. Hilary

St. Hilary cottage, shining white, sheds its worn bones
Shivering as the bold winds polish its ancient stones,
And firmly set in nature's mysterious strictures,
Is, charmingly crafted in her soft textures.

Demonically the fierce briar tears,
Gone are the windows, the doors and the stairs,
All save the shrouded outlines at twilight
Through which moan the winds of the night.

The ghost of St. Hilary moves close to the well,
While deep in the wood the shades sound a bell,
To warn all good mortals not to draw near,
For dark spirits rise and there is much to fear.

No portents of wonder or devilish dreams,
No spectre equipped with inconceivable screams,
A vision unnerving ,but gently serene;
St.Hilary dismantled, by nature in extreme.