VIII

What was that haunting horror of the night?

Brave was she; buoyant, full of sunny cheer.

Why was her face so small, so strangely white?

Then did I turn from her, heart-sick with fear;

Sought in my agony the outcast snows;

Prayed in my pain to that insensate sky;

Grovelled and sobbed and cursed, and then arose:

“Sunshine! O heart of gold! to die! to die!”