Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/86

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
For ages hath been empty of all joy,Except to brood upon its silent hope,As o'er its hope of day the sky doth now.All night have I heard voices: deeper yetThe deep low breathing of the silence grew,While all about, muffled in awe, there stoodShadows, or forms, or both, clear-felt at heart,But, when I turned to front them, far alongOnly a shudder through the midnight ran,And the dense stillness walled me closer round.But still I heard them wander up and downThat solitude, and flappings of dusk wingsDid mingle with them, whether of those hagsLet slip upon me once from Hades deep,Or of yet direr torments, if such be,I could but guess; and then toward me cameA shape as of a woman: very paleIt was, and calm; its cold eyes did not move,And mine moved not, but only stared on them.Their fixed awe went through my brain like ice;A skeleton hand seemed clutching at my heart,And a sharp chill, as if a dank night fog
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