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.
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. https://1890s.ca/YBV1_benson_greek