White on the rim of the autumn rain,
Pressing the cold of your cheek to my face,
Roving the infinite hills of space,
Wandering, wandering everywhere,
Wearing a leaf that is dead in your hair,
Mother of Darkness, Mother of Pain,
White on the rim of the autumn rain.
CRY OF THE WOUNDED LOON.
A dirge was on the waters,
Each wave a muffled bell;