Bronze (Johnson)/The Octoroon
THE OCTOROON
One drop of midnight in the dawn of life's pulsating streamMarks her an alien from her kind, a shade amid its gleam;Forevermore her step she bends insular, strange, apart—And none can read the riddle of her wildly warring heart.
The stormy current of her blood beats like a mighty seaAgainst the man-wrought iron bars of her captivity.For refuge, succor, peace and rest, she seeks that humble foldWhose every breath is kindliness, whose hearts are purest gold.