Our cabins were near; I could see, I could hear;
but between us there rippled the creek;
And all summer through, with a rancor that grew,
he would pass me and never would speak.
Then a shuddery breath like the coming of Death
crept down from the peaks far away;
The water was still; the twilight was chill; the sky was a tatter of gray.
Swift came the Big Cold, and opal and gold the lights of the witches arose;
The frost-tyrant clinched, and the valley was cinched
by the stark and cadaverous snows.
The trees were like lace where the star-beams could chase,
each leaf was a jewel agleam.
The soft white hush lapped the Northland and wrapped
us round in a crystalline dream;
So still I could hear quite loud in my ear
the swish of the pinions of time;
So bright I could see, as plain as could be,
the wings of God's angels ashine.
As I read in the Book I would oftentimes look
to that cabin just over the creek.
Ah me, it was sad and evil and bad, two neighbors who never would speak!
I knew that full well like a devil in hell
he was hatching out, early and late,
A system to bear through the frost-spangled air
the warm, crimson waves of his hate.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43