Chapter 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!