He fell, unconscious as the clay!
One thrill of triumph through me swept,—
But, as I gazed upon his brow,
A chilling horror o'er me crept,—
And I am what thou seest now!
The Moonlit Prairie
XIV.
"Stranger,—thy bosom cannot know
He fell, unconscious as the clay!
One thrill of triumph through me swept,—
But, as I gazed upon his brow,
A chilling horror o'er me crept,—
And I am what thou seest now!
"Stranger,—thy bosom cannot know