Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/346

 And I heard the angry winter's wind Still shrilly whistling by; I heard it stir the leafless trees, And heard their faint reply. While the ticking clock, right audibly, Did note time's passing sigh, And, like some dusky banner broad, Loud flapping in the breeze, The faded arras on the walls Sung its own exiquies.

Then, then, methought I heard a foot, It sounded soft and still; And slowly then it died away, Like echo on the hill, Or like the far faint murmuring Of a lone hermit rill. Again that footstep sounded near, Again it died away; And then I heard it gliding past The couch on which I lay! I raised my head, and wildly gazed Into the glimmering gloom; But nothing save the embers red,