V

The tropic night is husht With hateful noises—hark! The fluttering night-moth crusht By reptiles in the dark

About the bed; the sound Of tiny shrieks of pain; Of midnight murders round; Of creatures serpent-slain.

A moan of thunder fills The stagnant air; and soon A black cloud from the hills Devours the helpless moon.

Those faces stampt in air When all the hateful night We toss, and cannot bear The heated bed, and night

Is full of silent sounds That walk about the bed (The whining night-fly wounds The ear; the air is dead;

The darkness madness; heat A hell): appear and gaze; Are silent; at the feet Stand gazing; going gaze.

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