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Arthur Symons - Grief
Work rating: Low

The wind shook not in grass nor leaf, 
I had lain down with Perfect Grief, 
Not yet had come that angry thief 
Night that gives Passion some relief. 

I was more shaken than the grass, 
I heard the voice of the winds that pass, 
Then was unveiled Time`s looking-glass, 
The wan face of Herodias. 

The sun was heavy with his heat, 
His shadows lay upon my feet, 
My blood within me began to beat. 
The snake said: “Where is the Serpent`s meat? “
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