POETRY.
THE LIZARDS.
THE great broad-headed sleeping beast lies prone, Scarce heaving her thin flanks ; her breasts are hid In mists and shallow dolls enridged with gray. Is it the air trembles, or her body heaves, As the cloud follows the sun then's stayed upon Her brows, a darkening crown ? And then the crown Is all of light while darkness cloaks her sides ; And so she lies, Queen of the flowing hills, Proud in her dream of ancient subject Kings And lands beneath her limbs stretched—forest dusks, Cold streams like sleepy thoughts, springs like desires ; And memories that sun their gold, as lizards Breathe a shy life upon some thymy mound Golden and happy.
Then the wind wakes again : Disorbed, her dream dissolving, the proud Queen Murmurs and heaves, again the forest stirs, Cloud deepens down her sides, and on their mound The quick-eyed lizards shiver and disappear.
JOHN FREEMAN.
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