March, 1936
I raised my bow and steadily drew The silken string until I knew
My trusty arrow’s barbed point Lay on my left forefinger joint— Until I felt the feather seek My ear, swift-drawn across my cheek: Then from my fingers leapt the string. With sharp recoil and deadly ring,
Like twenty serpents bound together Hissed the flying arrow’s feather! —Maurice Thompson.