Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/64

 The heavy sinking slopes of shade From hidden hills of monstrous girth, Till new unearthly lights have flayed The draping darkness from the earth.

Henceforth what hiding-place shall hide All hallowed spirits that in form Of mortal stand beneath the wide And wandering pale eye of the storm?

The beadsman in his lonely cell Hath cast one boding timorous look Toward the heights; then loud and well, —Kneeling before the open book—

All night he prayeth in one breath, Nor spareth now his sins to own: And through his prayer he shuddereth To hear how loud the forests groan.

For all abroad the lightnings reign, And rally, with their lurid spell, The multitudinous campaign Of hosts not yet made fast in hell: