As the swinging cressets flare,
And the small swart crickets harp and harp
On the tune remembered, torturing-sharp,
And the sobbing owlets wake,—
The diamond in the dark
Draws, draws her, like the spark
In the head of a deadly snake.
Then will she sit, and dully stare
On the cold diamond’s serpent-glare;
Her lip is fallen, she does not stir,