Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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16
XII.
[Behold the plague-wind. From some orient fen]
Behold the plague-wind. From some orient fenIt rises spreading out its foggy wings
And wreathing in long curls its smoke-like rings,—
A great wise serpent, darting far its ken,
Eager to see the cities of strange men,
To quench the thirst of knowledge at pure springs,
To spread itself over the face of things,
River and sea, mountain and flowery glen.
Sinuous it glides, and lengthens from the hills,
Gathering up its train of shortening folds.
With earnest love the monster onward sweeps.
A blue steam rises mantling o'er the rills,
And o'er the cities and the spreading wolds,
And the dead lie about the plains in heaps.
Aug. 1885.
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