Stalks

"The era of the detective story": everywhere

Lurks the eye behind the appearance, the cunning

Murderer whose eyes glint through the stalks,

The summer grasses;

In the old Swiss chalet or the little native

Bungalow: in the town house: in the slum: he

Lurks equally and is always ready to speak

Evil like thunder:

To crack the skies with stroke of lightning,

To run like fire through the yellow haystack,

Or drop like a hawk on the gentle lamb;

The paw of judgment:

And everywhere we play the detective,

Creeping quietly among the grasses,

Like a hunter stalking deer, who would observe

The passing felon:

Who would surprise secrets from everyone:

Friend against friend; always to find the secret

Well-kept and nothing we can do against

Each pretty liar. .

The stalks rustle, and the summer air holds

A subtle whisper of deceit; deceiving

The eye and the ear, until the murderer

Creeps to your doorway;

And the whole summer lights up with excitement,

With fear, with violence. And friends are laughing.

It's a murder plot, and who will play detective?

Whose eyes are staring?