Jennie MGrew

Not, where the stairway turns in the dark,

A hooded figure, shriveled under a flowing cloak!

Not yellow eyes in the room at night,

Staring out from a surface of cobweb gray!

And not the flap of a condor wing,

When the roar of life in your ears

As a sound heard never before!

But on a sunny afternoon,

By a country road,

Where purple rag-weeds bloom along a straggling fence,

And the field is gleaned, and the air is still,

To see against the sun-light something black,

Like a blot with an iris rim —That is the sign to eyes of second sight….

And that I saw!

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