Poems . each other,And vanished in gyresof flickering her all alone, with the i^aceOf the Saint growing large in its one bright on a sudden, from far, a fearThrough all her heart its horror drew,As of sometliing hideous growing fingers seemed roaming through her damp hair;Her lijS were locked. The power of prayerLeft her. She dared not turn. She knew,Fiom his panel atilt on the wall u)i there,The grim Earl was gazing her through and through. Rut when the casement, a grisly square,Flickered with daj-, she flung it wide,And looked below. The shore was t
Poems . each other,And vanished in gyresof flickering her all alone, with the i^aceOf the Saint growing large in its one bright on a sudden, from far, a fearThrough all her heart its horror drew,As of sometliing hideous growing fingers seemed roaming through her damp hair;Her lijS were locked. The power of prayerLeft her. She dared not turn. She knew,Fiom his panel atilt on the wall u)i there,The grim Earl was gazing her through and through. Rut when the casement, a grisly square,Flickered with daj-, she flung it wide,And looked below. The shore was the mist tumbled the dismal ghastly pool seemed .<-olid white ;The foi-ked shadow of the thornFell through it, like a raven rentIn the steadfast blank down which it blind woild slowly gathered sea was moaning on to morn. And the Summer into the Autumnwaned. And under the watery Hyades The gray sea swelled, and the thick skyrained. And the land was darkened by slow Therk with clasped hands . . SHE PKAVED. — Page 348- THE EARLS RETURN. 349 But oft, in the low West, the daySmouldering sent up a sullen flameAlong the dreary waste of though in that red region lay,Heaped up, like Autumn weeds and flowersFor fire, its thorny fruitless God said, burn it all away ! When all was dreariest in the the gusty tract of twilight muttered,A strange slow smile grew into her eyes,As though from a great way ott it cameAnd was weary ere down to her lips it turned into a sigh, or some soft nameWhose syllables sounded likest smothered in sorrow before they were , at night, a music was rolled—A ripple of silver harp-strings cold —From the halls below where the Minstrel the silver hair, and the golden tongue,And the eyes of passionless, peaceful blue(Like twilight which faint stars gaze through),Wise with the years which no man first the music, as though the wingsOf so
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