The white mist walks between the trees In silver gown; Her mystic floating draperies The branches drown; And lurking there with eager leer And wonder new, The lamps inquisitively peer Their fingers through. The world sighs wearily, with pain Drawing tired breath; The stars are like a silver rain; And down beneath On Night's smooth garment running o'er In sullen flood, The city, like a festering sore, Oozes warm blood.