Ii

Where was I last Friday night?-- Within the Forest of dark Dreams Following a form of shadowy white With my own wild face it seems.-- Did a raven's wing just fan my hair? Or a web-winged bat brush by my face? Or the hand of--something I did not dare Look round to see in that obscene place! Where the boughs, with their leaves a-devil's-dance, And the thorn-tree bush, where the wind made moan, Had more than a strange significance Of life and of evil not their own.