The poem
Sombre the night is. And though we have our lives, we know What sinister threat lies there.
Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know This poison-blasted track opens on our camp - On a little safe sleep.
But hark! joy - joy - strange joy. Lo! heights of night ringing with unseen larks. Music showering our upturned list'ning faces.
Death could drop from the dark As easily as song - But song only dropped, Like a blind man's dreams on the sand By dangerous tides, Like a girl's dark hair for she dreams no ruin lies there, Or her kisses where a serpent hides.