Iv

Sad as sad eyes that ache with tears The stars of night shine through the leaves; And shadowy as the Fates’ dim shears The weft that twilight weaves.

The summer sunset marched long hosts Of gold adown one golden peak, That flamed and fell; and now gray ghosts Of mist the far west streak.

They seem the shades of things that weep, Wan things the heavens would conceal; Blood-stained; that bear within them, deep, Red wounds that will not heal.

Night comes, and with it storm, that slips Wild angles of the jagged light:-- I feel the wild rain on my lips,-- A wild girl is the Night.

A moaning tremor sweeps the trees; And all the stars are packed with death:-- She holds me by the neck and knees, I feel her wild, wet breath.

Hell and its hags drive on the rain:-- Night holds me by the hair and pleads; Her kisses fall like blows again; My brow is dewed with beads.

The thunder plants wild beacons on Each volleying height.--My soul seems blown Far out to sea. The world is gone, And night and I alone.

Tampa, Florida, February, 1893.

WAR-TIME SILHOUETTES.