Jephthah and Other Mysteries

LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC. 187 ON GARRET HOSTEL BRIDGE. ERE in the evening curl white mists and wreathe in their vapour | All the gray spires of stone, all the immobile towers ; Here in the twilight gloom dim trees and sleepier rivers, Here where the bridge is thrown over the amber stream. | Chill is the ray that steals from the moon to the stream that whispers , Secret tales of its source, songs of its fountain-head. Here do I stand in the dusk ; like spectres mournfully moving | Wisps of the cloud-wreaths form, dissipate into the mist, | - Wrap me in shrouds of gray, chill me and make me shiver, Not with the Night alone, not with the sound of her wing, Yet with a sense of something vague and unearthly stalking (Step after step as I move) me, to annul me, quell