The storm was raging still. The shutters swung And all without went on-as aye it will, The fire beneath the crucible was out; And thus had passed from its unequal frame G Like the adventurous bird that hath out-flown His strength upon the sea, ambition-wrecked— A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits THE LEPER. "ROOM for the leper! Room!" And, as he came, The early risen poor were coming in Duly and cheerfully to their toil, and up Rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear, Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick Hailing the welcome light, and sounds that chase The death-like images of the dark away. "Room for the leper!" And aside they stood- 'Twas now the first Of the Judean Autumn, and the leaves Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip, With the soft airs of Summer there had come Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast The blood beat not as wont within his veins ; His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales Circled with livid purple, cover'd him. And then his nails grew black, and fell away |