Still I held onward through the ugly night;
Breast-deep in thistles, all their ghostly heads
Kinked close with wet; through the bedraggled plight
Of brakes of bramble, tousled into shreds,
And tangled wastes of briars--tumbling beds
For winds to toss on.--Once, across a farm,
Unsteadily, a lamp towards unseen sheds,--
Like the blurred glow of some ungainly worm,--
A watery wisp of light crawled trailing through the storm.