the hunter's starnburned brighter than all of the suns in the firmamentnas through the sky he ragednwith his hook and bladenand the world, unmadennas forests bownand blacken the airnas the canopies burn away,nand the arc-lights fadenand no gull remainsnto repeat its callnnonly now would you longnfor the ancient boughs,nthe moon, overlapping the long white cloudsnand the home life of a lovenwho will never return againnnno child at allnwould wake to the lightnof a sun that is reddeningnlike a robin's breast,nand no lionessnboards a last, great hullnon the wavesnthat closenon a worldnthat will never return againnand no sound escapesnfrom the night to come.