IV.

Down through the dark magnolia leaves Where climbs the rose of Cherokee Against the orange-blossomed tree, A loom of moonlight weaves and weaves,—

A loom of moonlight, weaving clothes From snow-white rose of Cherokee, And bridal blooms of orange-tree, For fairy folk in fragrant rose.

Down through the mournful myrtle crape, Through moving moss, through ghostly gloom, A long white moonbeam takes a shape Above a nameless, lowly tomb;

A long white finger through the gloom Of grasses gathered round about,— As God's white finger pointing out A name upon that nameless tomb.