Viii

The silver sun looks down On the silent tower; The guards awaken, nor own To the unguarded hour.

They eye each other's face, But to speak none durst; As though the night were ungraced, Silent they are dispersed.

The cruel King climbs, doth draw Near, then by he creeps, Marking in rage and awe The smile in which she sleeps.

STAMFORD, Autumn, 1912, and Autumn, 1913.