She opened her eyes, and green
They shone, clear like flowers undone
For the first time, now for the first time seen.
GRIEF
The darkness steals the forms of all the queens.
But oh, the palms of her two black hands are red!
It is Death I fear so much, it is not the dead—
Not this gray book, but the red and bloody scenes.
The lamps are white like snowdrops in the grass;
The town is like a churchyard, all so still