Page:The children of the night.djvu/88

 Of all to come when the work was over,— There came to me then no stony vision Of these three hundred days,—I cherished An awful joy in my brain. I pondered And weighed the thing in my mind, and gloried In life to think that I was to conquer Death at his own dark door,—and chuckled To think of it done so cleanly. One evening I knew that my time had come. I shuddered A little, but rather for doubt than terror, And followed him,—led by the nameless devil I worshipped and called my brother. The city Shone like a dream that night; the windows Flashed with a piercing flame, and the pavements Pulsed and swayed with a warmth—or something That seemed so then to my feet—and thrilled me With a quick, dizzy joy; and the women And men, like marvellous things of magic, Floated and laughed and sang by my shoulder, Sent with a wizard motion. Through it And over and under it all there sounded A murmur of life, like bees; and I listened And laughed again to think of the flower That grew, blood-red, for me! . . . This fellow Was one of the popular sort who flourish Unruffled where gods would fall. For a conscience He carried a snug deceit that made him The man of the time and the place, whatever