A lifeless statue, numb and cold,

His bony hands drooped helpless down;

And o'er his swollen body crawled,

Fast clinging, black and slimy things.

The peasant quick the window closed;

He knew full well that naked guest,

And swooned away. "Ah, mayst thou burst!"

He, trembling, muttered trough his teeth.

Uncanny thoughts possessed his brain,

And all that night he sleepless tossed:

Till morn he heard the ceaseless kuock,

At window first, and then at door.

Among the people goes the tale,

How from that night of dread and crime,

Each year the half-crazed peasant waits

The destined day and guest unknown.

From early morn the clouds hang low,

The night grows rough and wild with storm;

And lo! the dead man ceaseless knocks

At window first, and then at door.

THE UNWASHED.

A poet from enchanted lyre

Struck notes of mildest melody;

He sang.... but cold and all unmoved,

The mob unconsecrated stood,

And, gaping, listened to his song.

Amongst themselves the mob discussed:

"Why sing with voice so musical?

The ear is tickled, but in vain,

What is the goal he leads us to?

Why this thrumming? What would he teach?

Our hearts why stir, our souls torment,

Like one possessed with unknown tongue?

His song is free as lawless winds,