O lowering skies! O clouds, that point in scorn,
With the lean fingers of a wrinkled wrath!
O dedal moon, that rears its ghostly horn!
O hidden stars, that tread the cosmic path!
Shall we attain the glory of the morn,
Or sink into some awful aftermath!
THE NEW ART
(With apologies to Rossetti)
BY CORINNE ROCKWELL SWAIN