Wheeling and whirring
Of thousands of bats, that the slaking
Of throats will not hinder from aching,
No wine for the brow that is beating to bursting,
But water at morning is quench for the thirsting!

ERNEST BENSHIMOL


SONG

OUT of one heart the birds and I together,
Earth hushed in twilight,
Low through the live-oaks hung heavy with silver,
Gemmed with the sky-light,
Under the great wet star
Shaking with light, we jar
Lute-voiced the silence with intervaled music.

While under the margined world the slow sun
lingers,
Flaming earth's portal,
Over the lilac dusk spreads his great fingers-
Earth is immortal!
While the frail beauty dies.
Dream in the dreamer's eyes,
All the good gladness turns praise for the singers.

Hark, 'tis the breath of life! Hush! and I need it;
Northern, gigantic,-