The Octoroon
- One drop of midnight in the dawn of life’s pulsating
- stream
- Marks 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 sea
- Against the man-wrought iron bars of her captivity.
- For refuge, succor, peace and rest, she seeks that
- humble fold
- Whose every breath is kindliness, whose hearts are
- purest gold.