Ku Klux

We have sent him seeds of the melon’s core, And nailed a warning upon his door; By the Ku Klux laws we can do no more. Down in the hollow, mid crib and stack, The roof of his low-porched house looks black, Not a line of light at the doorsill’s crack. Yet arm and mount! and mask and ride! The hounds can sense though the fox may hide! And for a word too much men oft have died. The clouds blow heavy towards the moon. The edge of the storm will reach it soon. The killdee cries and the lonesome loon. The clouds shall flush with a wilder glare Than the lightning makes with its angled flare, When the Ku Klux verdict is given there. In the pause of the thunder rolling low, A rifle’s answer—who shall know From the wind’s fierce hurl and the rain’s black blow? Only the signature written grim At the end of the message brought to him,— A hempen rope and a twisted limb. So arm and mount! and mask and ride! The hounds can sense though the fox may hide! And for a word too much men oft have died.