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By Arthur Christopher Benson

YOU were clear as a sandy spring
    After a drought, when its waters run
Evenly, sparingly, filtering
    Into the eye of the sun.

Love you took with a placid smile,
    Pain you bore with a hopeful sigh,
Never a thought of gain or guile
    Slept in your wide blue eye.

Suddenly, once, at a trivial word,—
    Side by side together we stept,—
Rose a tempest that swayed and stirred ;
    Over your soul it swept.

Dismal visitants, suddenly,
    Pulled the doors in your house of clay ;
Out of the windows there stared at me
    Something horrible, grey.

MLA citation:

Benson, Arthur Christopher. “Δαιμονζσμενος.” The Yellow Book, vol. 1, April 1894, p. 33. Yellow Book Digital Edition, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019.