A Winter Twilight

BLOOD-SHOTTEN through the bleak, gigantic trees,
The sunset, o’er wilderness of snow,
Startles the wolfish winds that wilder grow
As hunger mocks their howling miseries.
In every skulking shadow Fancy sees
The menace of an undiscovered foe, —
A sullen footstep, treacherous and slow,
That comes, or into deeper darkness flees.
Nor day nor night, in time’s eternal round
Whereof the tides are telling, e’er hath passed
This isthmus-hour,—this dim, mysterious land
That sets their lives asunder, — where upcast
Their earliest and their latest waves resound,
As each, alternate, nears or leaves the strand.
John B. Tabb.