POE TRY.
Down thro' the gloom a whirling glow A yellow leaflet from the tree
Dives, like a goldfish, straight and slow.
The tamarind leaves have closed each lid And hang like little bats asleep, And darkness settles swift, amid The wondrous silence all things keep.
Silent the fox-flight stream of wings, Silent the stars from slumber steal, But, in the ear of Silence, sings Cicada's ceaseless spinning-wheel.
See floating where the tree-tops show Their gloom of green that melts to night, The fireflies glow and pale and glow Aimless, intoxicate with light.
Full many a gem serenest-rayed Those mystic leafy caverns bear, With such the wild Brazilian maid Bestars the gloaming of her hair.
Aloft, afar, they lead the eyes, thro' the tangled curves and bars, lip, to their kindred of the skies, The soft voluptuous Indian stars. E. WARD.
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