Iii

Let me not think of it!--as I go thence,-- That thought I can not kill! Ungovernable! that dogs my footsteps still, Like something real and living; which my will Is powerless against.--Ah! when that fence, Dividing the dark ridges of the hill, Is passed, shall I not then be breathless? ill With sinking sense Of ghastly things to come?--Some sterner strength Sustain my soul!--Beyond the hill the dense Dead wood's to pass, and then ... that livid length Of mooning water, spectral and immense With sullen storm and night.... There, if the ghoulish wind,-- That knows well as I know how I have sinned,-- Will cease to curse me in its hag-like spite, Alone with all the horror of my soul, I shall behold, Now this way, and now that way rolled, Lifeless, among cramped reeds, the storm has thinned,-- With wide, white eyes, metallic in the light Of the impassive moon:--in gusty roll Of washing ripples, webby, slippery locks Dabbling and dark; and,--wedged between sharp rocks,-- Two rocks, two iron fangs, Whereon the lake's mad lip, pale-foaming clangs,-- Wild-pinched and water-strangled white, His murdered face! that mocks.