Bad Smells Tobacco-Clouds That Rise

bad smells tobacco-clouds that rise continually from earth unwanted; the earth stinks - we are on it, condemned! The globes of white light that shine White in the evening serenade by Hastings Taut thin and earthy shine and raw: Hours will pass - till they start flickering And waning at the touches of the dawn. I think I saw green goblins on the walls Of the high bastions - in the night The owl unruffled in its feathers slept; The nightingale hath refused to sing The ants in mourning garb funereal crawl. The earth stinks - its wounds will never close!