MONOTONY
That night we stranded at the Isle of DreadThere was not any sound that we could hear,Though Jacquelyn listened, and she had an earAttuned to slightest sound. But ah! InsteadWe fell a-trembling and our hearts grew dead.I touched her in the dark, I had such fear,—And something splashed my hand—it was her tear."What fate has driven us to this shore?" I said."I saw it in a dream," low answered she;"No growing things nor young are in this land."She touched me as she spoke, with shaking hand—"Where only there is dead monotony,—No young things here, where nothing grows," she said,—"A woeful land where the young flowers are dead."
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