To a Lady, XXXII

I heard the sound of coming wings; ’Twas dark as the second death, But I could see a thousand things, For I heard a being’s breath: A whisper—a sigh—was here—was there, For darkness is Fancy’s light: And horrible phantoms were filling the air, For I heard the low stroke of their flight. Oh should they touch me! Or oh should they clutch me! How shrunk my poor soul in its fright!