And on the top-porch are three children
Gravely kissing each others’ foreheads—
And an ample nurse with a huge red fan....
The passing of the afternoon to them
Is but the lengthening of blue-black shadows on brick walls.
THE INTERNE
Oh, the agony of having too much power!
In my passive palm are hundreds of lives.
Strange alchemy!—they drain my blood:
My heart becomes iron; my brain copper; my eyes silver; my lips brass.