Then she heard the shot. “He has quick warm blood” went through her mind—and her blood was cold.
Her forehead had not quite touched the boards, now she touched them, but she got up immediately, stumbling over her dress.
PASTORAL
A frog leaps out across the lawn,
And crouches there—all heavy and alone,
And like a blossom, pale and over-blown,
Once more the moon turns dim against the dawn.
Crawling across the straggling panoply
Of little roses, only half in bloom,
It strides within that beamed and lofty room