 | In the Dorian Mood |  |
55
A NIGHT OF TERROR
1870
They woke me up, for my small eyes were tightShut in night's first sweet sleep. ‘We waken you,’
They whispered, ‘to behold the strangest sight:
The seeing of such sights is given to few!’
Far off upon the horizon's verge, the night,
Which round our mountain hung so still and blue,
Was diapered with little shoots of light
That rose, and curved, and burst, as rockets do.
I stirred in my small bed, and 'gan to plain
Because they waked me. Then I heard them say:
56
And lo, mine eyes were changed and 'gan to feast
Not as in dreams or games on that bright rain,
And, on the Night of Terror, childhood ceased!
| In the Dorian Mood | |