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by A. Leslie

You danced for me in the pallid flame
 That streamed from a cold, dead moon
While out of the shuddering darkness came
 The mocking laugh of a loon.
How could I see the writhing tilings
 That danced beside you there,
That flew without the use of wings,
 Or slid through the whimpering air?
I who could only see and desire
 Your body, leprous-white,
Your eyes that glowed with maddening fire
 Like demon stars in the night!
And now I too must tread the tune
 There in the moon-drenched dark,
With lips that move in a soundless croon,
 And eyes that are set and stark.