Under Dark Skies

I

Hills rolled in woods, that lair the lynx and fox;
Harsh fields, that lean before the woods' advance
As wild-men fly from hunters, tossing locks
Through which their eyes of yellow fire glance;
Great blurs of briers and lugubrious rocks,--
A bristling blackness,--with a pool beneath,
Whereo'er the wisps, like something evil, dance;
And then a house like the wrecked face of death.

II

There where the moon hangs sinister, o'er parched
And haggard thorns,--a golden battle-bow,
Or shield of bronze, old wars have scarred and scorched,--
What crime hath cursed it ... who shall ever know?--
Night only! Night, with flickering flame, who torched
That moment when blood branded black its sod,
And in the pool a ghastly face sank slow
Beneath the storm and rushing fire of God.