The night looked down

51

Waning, and saw thro' tangled boughs a still,

Dead figure on the troubled earth. All stained

With crimson blood, there lay a crimson wreath,

And thro' the forest stole a dusky shade

Fleeing he knew not where save that he 'scaped

Death, that was lying by the forest pool.

At dawn the weary boy, who thro' the night

Had cried his love and anguish to the dark,

Wandering half crazed thro' forest deeps unknown,

Feeling upon his throat the hand of hate,

Feeling upon his heart the still more potent

Fingers of love, came to the open shore

Waiting for day. The restless, eager foam,

Stretching white arms around the sleeping earth,

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Woke his great love anew. The loneliness

Of open spaces set his hungry soul

Dreaming of Taka, Taka who should come

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