A song in the airless night...
Moon, a plate of metallic light,
The spaces, a sombre green.
...A song: like a lively echo,
Buried beneath the bank, below...
–It’s silent: but there, unseen...
– A toad! – Oh, why such terror,
Near me, you steadfast soldier!
See it: shorn poet, wingless forever,
A nightingale in the mud... – Horror! –
...It sings – Horror! – Horror, why,
Surely you see its light-filled eye, shining alone? ...
No, it’s gone, cold, under its stone.