The pits of his eyes
Peer like the port-holes of an armoured ship,
Merciless, keen, inhuman, dark.
The hands alone are of my kindred;
Their slender strength, that soon shall press the knife
Silver and red, now lingers slowly above me,
The last links with my human world ...
... The living daylight
Clouds and thickens.
Flashes of sudden clearness stream before me,—and then