Page:The collected poems, lyrical and narrative, of A. Mary F. Robinson.djvu/28

 the narrow Ciille where the moonlight cannot enter. The houses are so high; Silent and alone we pierced the night's dim core and centre— Only you and I. Clear and sad our footsteps rang along the hollow pavement. Sounding like a bell; Sounding like a voice that cries to souls in Life's enslavement, "There is Death as well!" Down the narrow dark we went, until a sudden whiteness Made us hold our breath; All the white Salute towers and domes in moonlit brightness,— Ah! could this be Death?