Stephen 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.