Stephen Maria Crane

The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top

The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top Blood — blood and torn grass — Had marked the rise of his agony — This lone hunter. The grey-green woods impassive Had watched the threshing of his limbs. A canoe with flashing paddle, A girl with soft searching eyes, A call: "John!" . . . . . . . . . . . . Come, arise, hunter! Can you not hear? The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top.