Dark human shapes could be made out in the distance, flitting indistinctly against the gloomy border of the forest, and near the river two bronze figures, leaning on tall spears, stood in the sunlight under fantastic head-dresses of spotted skins, warlike and still in statuesque repose. And from right to left along the lighted shore moved a wild and gorgeous apparition of a woman.
Rambler of the Wind
Saw a great dark bird in my sleep last night His wings were black, they were dark as coal And his eyes were dark as stones His feathers sharp like splinters of light Rode him down to the lowest I’ve ever been Hole’s too deep and filled with roses When I see you in my darkest hour Do you think that I’m still the sun? Shining like a jewel burning at the end of a candle I’m burning out In the dead of...