PICTURES—II.
A lurid sunset, red as blood,
Firing a sombre, haunted wood;
And from the shadows, dark and fell,
One hurrying with the face of Hell.
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Two at a banquet board alone,
In dalliance, the feast being done.
And one behind the arras stands,
Grasping an axe with quivering hands.
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A high cliff-meadow lush with Spring;
Gay butterflies upon the wing;
Beneath, beyond, unbounded, free,
The foam-flecked, blue, pervading sea.
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A clustering hill-town, climbing white
From the grey olives up the height,
And on the inland summits high
Thin waters spilt as from the sky.
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