Présentation de l'éditeur
A lone by his anthracite fire, And fanciful shadows were flitting Now hither, now yon, to admire The Gobelins of time-faded splendor, The rugs from far India sloom. The radiant brass of the fender. The paintings that hid in the gloom. They danced on the carvings by Diirer, They bowed to the gods of Cathay, And idols the Sultans of Ghur, Had worshiped in lands far away. He slept, and his soul was uplifted. And borne on the Night sebon breast. To lands where the red sun still sifted, His beams oer the drouth-stricken West. The corn standing dead by the highways Bore nought of the life-saving grain. The cattle that roamed in the byways Were seeking for moisture in vain.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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