two midnight trifles harvested from dreams.

i.

A titan of such savage grace,
That all who see him genuflect in awe
Or stand aloof,
It matters none to him.
For such is his security
That opinions pass unnoticed,
Like shadows scattered
In the wind.

ii.

Long the sweet sweet
Slumber of the night.
Low murmurs crowd
The echoed canyons
Of the mind.
Crisp sheets and
Darkness sanctify
Death's twin . . .
And morning,
Tardy with indifference,
Charms the starry welkin
With a sigh.