Angels of good and ill are every where; <br />They haunt the city and the cottage lone; <br />Their seen or unseen presence fills the air, <br />And feels the stir of every laugh and moan. <br /> <br />And frequent are good angels as the bane <br />Of evil men, who name them evil things; <br />And darkest ministers of death and pain <br />Oft bear the angel light upon their wings. <br /> <br />So are they changed. The angel of the wind, <br />That speeds the sailor swiftly o'er the flood, <br />Is the sea demon of the crew behind, <br />Whose hands are eager for the stain of blood. <br /> <br />And many a mother has the angel blessed <br />Of the dark swamp, as with convulsive strain, <br />She clasps her wondering infant to her breast, <br />While baffled blood-hounds lick their chops in vain. <br /> <br />Before the wicked city's traitor hold <br />Stands a swamp angel all unangel-wise; <br />Perhaps some bondsman's prayer has made it bold, <br />Thus to put off its old and unseen guise. <br /> <br />And it sends back the hound's deep-throated tone. <br />Full with the message of resounding ill; <br />And the pale hunters curse it with a groan, <br />For the swamp angel is a demon still.<br /><br />Anonymous Americas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-swamp-angel/
