Page:The ascent of man by Blind, Mathilde.djvu/141

Rh No fire—but as the late moon rose on high
 * Her light looked smoke-red as through belching mills:

No fire—but moonlight turning in his path To fire of wrath.

He looked abroad with eyes that gave the mist
 * A lurid tinge above the breadths of grain

Owned by May's master. Then he shook his fist,
 * Still muttering, "Fire!" and measured o'er again

The road he'd come, where, lapped in moonlight, lay Huge ricks of hay.

There he paused glaring. Then he turned and waned
 * Like mist into the misty, moon-soaked night,

Where the pale silvery fields were blotched and stained
 * With strange fantastic shadows. But what light

Is that which leaps up, flickering lithe and long, With licking tongue! K