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