a last dream.
17
The healthy vigor went, and in its place
There was a motley whirl of fantasies,
A dreadful dance of wicked things, that struck
Strange gleams and painful lightnings through my lids
Which still I saw upon the midnight snow,
Mingling with pure auroras from the bergs,
And meteors' silver flashes. And one—one
Loaded these limbs with dull, invisible chains,
So subtilly imposed, so stern-and still,
It seemed to lull the will into accord,
And hoodwink all my soul with trust. But no!
T rose, I strove with triple giant strength,
And heaved, as earthquakes mountains from their shoulders,
The settling weights away, and heard them slide
Into that night of sound, that northward far,
Where the white sea-gull flies, for leagues on leagues,
Wraps in its shadowy arms the gleaming coast.
Loathing and shuddering, at length I drew
The clinging fury from my heart—and lo!
There was a motley whirl of fantasies,
A dreadful dance of wicked things, that struck
Strange gleams and painful lightnings through my lids
Which still I saw upon the midnight snow,
Mingling with pure auroras from the bergs,
And meteors' silver flashes. And one—one
Loaded these limbs with dull, invisible chains,
So subtilly imposed, so stern-and still,
It seemed to lull the will into accord,
And hoodwink all my soul with trust. But no!
T rose, I strove with triple giant strength,
And heaved, as earthquakes mountains from their shoulders,
The settling weights away, and heard them slide
Into that night of sound, that northward far,
Where the white sea-gull flies, for leagues on leagues,
Wraps in its shadowy arms the gleaming coast.
Loathing and shuddering, at length I drew
The clinging fury from my heart—and lo!
