While from a filmy sheath the moon
Drew forth a sabre, keen and bright.
Oh, it was weird!—the seabird’s screech,
The distant buoy’s warning bell,
The white palms lifting high to reach
A loosened star that downward fell!
Within my breast each moment grew
A fear of more than wind-blown sea;
And lo! that mute man, laughing, threw
Aside his oar and leered at me.