Issue 11, Winter 1955
Night, dark night, night of my distress...The moon is glittering with all the tearsOf the long silence and unhappinessOf those who loved in vain for many years.
And so it glittered on the sleeping town When Orpheus alone and sadly went To death, to fetch Eurydice, and downThe fearful road pursued his dark descent.
Here were the walls, the gates where death had setHis warnings—in a city carved in stone The citizens were busy; farmers whet Their scythes in meadows never to be mown.
The kings and judges sat in their high places. Then, at the sound of a loud trumpet blown,They crowded, with pale terror on their faces,From Death ascending to his dreadful throne.
Orpheus entered. As the eery light Dwindled, he grasped his lute, and stumbling bentHis footsteps through the thick, enshrouding night.Then suddenly, the lute by accident