And then he talked till the sun went down
      And the chickens went to roost;
   And he seized the collar of the poor young man,
      And never his hold he loosed.

   And the sun went down and the moon came up,
      And he talked till the dawn of day;
   Though he said, “On this subject mentioned by you,
      I have nothing whatever to say.”

   And down the reporter dropped to sleep
      And flat on the floor he lay;
   And the last he heard was the great man’s words,
      “I have nothing at all to say.”

THE MURDERER

   “I push my boat among the reeds;
      I sit and stare about;
   Queer slimy things crawl through the weeds,
      Put to a sullen rout. 
   I paddle under cypress trees;
      All fearfully I peer
   Through oozy channels when the breeze
      Comes rustling at my ear.

   “The long moss hangs perpetually;
      Gray scalps of buried years;
   Blue crabs steal out and stare at me,
      And seem to gauge my fears;
   I start to hear the eel swim by;
      I shudder when the crane
   Strikes at his prey; I turn to fly,
      At drops of sudden rain.

   “In every little cry of bird
      I hear a tracking shout;
   From every sodden leaf that’s stirred
      I see a face frown out;
   My soul shakes when the water rat
      Cowed by the blue snake flies;
   Black knots from tree holes glimmer at
      Me with accusive eyes.

   “Through all the murky silence rings
      A cry not born of earth;
   An endless, deep, unechoing thing
      That owns not human birth. 
   I see no colors in the sky
      Save red, as blood is red;
   I pray to God to still that cry
      From pallid lips and dead.

   “One spot in all that stagnant waste
      I shun as moles shun light,
   And turn my prow to make all haste
      To fly before the night. 
   A poisonous mound hid from the sun,
      Where crabs hold revelry;
   Where eels and fishes feed upon
      The Thing that once was He.

   “At night I steal along the shore;
      Within my hut I creep;
   But awful stars blink through the door,
      To hold me from my sleep. 
   The river gurgles like his throat,
      In little choking coves,
   And loudly dins that phantom note
      From out the awful groves.

   “I shout with laughter through the night: 
      I rage in greatest glee;
   My fears all vanish with the light
      Oh! splendid nights they be! 
   I see her weep; she calls his name;
      He answers not, nor will;
   My soul with joy is all aflame;
      I laugh, and laugh, and thrill.

   “I count her teardrops as they fall;
      I flout my daytime fears;
   I mumble thanks to God for all
      These gibes and happy jeers. 
   But, when the warning dawn awakes,
      Begins my wandering;
   With stealthy strokes through tangled brakes,
      A wasted, frightened thing.”