AN ASSASSIN
Cat-like he creeps along where ways are dim,
From covert unto covert's secrecy;
His shadow in the moonlight shrinks from him
And crouches warily.
He hugs strange envies to his breast, and nurses
Wild hatreds, till the murderous hand he grips
Falls, quivering with the tension of the curses
He launches from his lips.
Drenched in his victim's blood he holds high revel;
He mocks at justice, and in all men's eyes
Insults his God—and no one but the devil
Is sorry when he dies.
BEST OF ALL
Of all good gifts that the Lord lets fall,
Is not silence the best of all?
The deep, sweet hush when the song is closed,
And every sound but a voiceless ghost;
And every sigh, as we listening leant,
A breathless quiet of vast content?
The laughs we laughed have a purer ring
With but their memory echoing;