INDIAN SKULL

Some one dug this up and brought it

To our house.

In the dark upper hall, I see it dimly,

Looking at me through the glass.

Where dancers have danced, and weary people

Have crept to their bedrooms in the morning,

Where sick people have tossed all night,

Where children have been born,

Where feet have gone up and down,

Where anger has blazed forth, and strange looks have passed,

It has rested, watching meanwhile

The opening and shutting of doors,

The coming and going of people,

The carrying out of coffins.

Earth still clings to its eye-sockets,

It will wait, till its vengeance is accomplished.