THE ENEMIES
The angry wind
That cursed at me
Was nothing but an evil sprite
Vexed with any man's delight.
And strange it seemed
That a dark wind
Should run down from a mountain steep
And shout as though the world were asleep.
But when he ceased
And silence was—
Who could but fear what evil sprite
Crept through the tunnels of the night?
THE SILVERY ONE
Clear from the deep sky pours the moon
Her silver on the heavy dark;
The small stars blink.