BY WILLIAM ALBERT SUTLIFFE.
———
Lighting the lonely taper of a thought—
Lone and forlorn, solely entranced I sit,
While night, in silence deeper dipt for aye,
Hushes to midnight in a weirdish calm.
I may not muse the low abasing earth
That ever yearn beyond its sensual coil—
Nor all the stars, th’ ambitions stars sublime,
Sprinkling the liquid blue on witching nights—