LXI.

Woe to thee, coward, in thy secret places!

Woe to thee in the daylight haunts of men!

Cold terror wrap thee in his close embraces,

And bear thee shrieking to his haunted den.

Circle thy midnight couch with vengeful faces,

And conscience torture beyond mortal ken;

Ave Maria! blessings on the maid

All in the moonlight at thy portal laid.

Eidolon; or, The Course of a Soul; and Other Poems · 第 116 / 176 题