Once more the Night, like some great dark drop-scene

Eclipsing horrors for a brief entr’acte,

Descends, lead-weighty. Now the space between,

Fringed with the eager eyes of men, is racked

By spark-tailed lights, curvetting far and high,

Swift smoke-flecked coursers, raking the black sky.

And as each sinks in ashes grey, one more

Rises to fall, and so through all the hours

They strive like petty empires by the score,

Each confident of its success and powers,

And, hovering at its zenith, each will show

Pale, rigid faces, lying dead, below.

There shall they lie, tainting the innocent air,

Until the dawn, deep veiled in mournful grey,

Sadly and quietly shall lay them bare,

The broken heralds of a doleful day.