Never, under night-shade, noticed by watchmen,
dusk’s denizen drifts into homes,
lightfooted lurker leaving behind
no mark, nor memory—men are no wiser
for day’s dawning. I dared only once
to glimpse that guest; gathering courage
I watched and waited for one whole night,
yet never met that menace.
When it marks someone
lying lampless, it lets them first
burrow into blankets, bed down on straw,
so that, within, they think themself safe.
Upon its prey then pounces that villain!
To ward it away, wits are needed;
its danger is direst to drink-addled men,
full-bellied feasters, fellows working
while winter-weary. The worsted know
how its cunning keys unclasp the bands
of mind-coffers; how it metes out, in turn,
calm to the kindly and to the crook-hearted,
restless writhing; how that wretch often
slays entire cities of people,
time and time again.
