The white mist walks between the
In silver gown;
Her mystic floating
The branches drown;
And lurking there with eager
And wonder new,
The lamps inquisitively
Their fingers through.
The world sighs wearily, with
Drawing tired breath;
The stars are like a silver rain;
And down
On Night's smooth garment running
In sullen flood,
The city, like a festering sore,
Oozes warm blood.
