IV.— ANNIHILATED

By Robert Nichols

Upon the sweltering sea's enormous round,

Asmoke, adazzle, brown and brown and gold,

A hushed light falls....

Then clouds without a sound

Darken the sea within their curtain's fold.

The sombre clouds through which the sick sun climbs

Smoke slowly on. Below there is no breath.

The long black beach turns livid.

The sea chimes.

I taste the fulness of my spirit's death.