Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/60

 The weaker holier season wanes; Night comes with darkness and with sins; And, in all forests, hills, and plains, A keener, fiercer life begins.

And, sitting by the low hearth fires, I start and shiver fearfully; For thoughts all strange and new desires Of distant things take hold on me;

And many a feint of touch or sound Assails me, and my senses leap As in pursuit of false things found And lost in some dim path of sleep.

But, momently, there seems restored A triple strength of life and pain; I thrill, as though a wine were poured Upon the pore of every vein:

I burn—as though keen wine were shed On all the sunken flames of sense— Yea, till the red flame grows more red, And all the burning more intense,