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213

[Here where the twilight-colored trunks of trees]

Here where the twilight-colored trunks of trees,
Mottled with lichen, arch the twilight way,
Where every crooked bough, swayed by the breeze,
Now seems a knotted serpent, viperous gray,
Because of one whose flat and horrible head,
Reared in my woodland way, I crushed to-day,
Fanging with poison its own side instead
Of me advancing where unseen it lay.