Xviii

And suddenly alone I stood With scared eyes gazing through the wood, For some still sign of ill or good To lead me from the solitude.

The day was at its twilighting; One cloud o'erhead spread a vast wing Of rosy thunder; vanishing Behind the far hills' sullen ring.

Some stars shone timidly o'erhead; And towards the west's cadaverous red-- Like some wild dream that haunts the dead In limbo--the lean moon was led.

Upon the sad, debatable Vague lands of twilight slowly fell A silence that I knew too well, A sorrow that I can not tell.

What way to take, what path to go, Whether into the east's gray glow, Or where the west burnt red and low-- What way to choose I did not know.

So, hesitating, there I stood Lost in my soul's uncertain wood; One sign I craved of ill or good To lead me from its solitude.