The OutpostWhen evening cools the yellow stream, For he alone of all mankind No other eyes had vented there Strange turrets rose beyond the plain, A grudging moon writhed up to shine Then he who in his boyhood ran Inhuman shapes, half-seen, half-guessed, And voidward from that pest-mad zone The ancient Fishers from Outside— Their hidden, dread-ringed outposts brood Sweating with fright, the watcher crept None saw him leave, or come at dawn, When evening cools the yellow stream, |
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