RIGID sleeps the house in darkness,
I alone
Like a thing
unwarrantable cross the hall
And climb the stairs to find the group of
doors
Standing
angel-stern and tall.
I want my own room’s shelter. But
what is this
Throng
of startled beings suddenly thrown
In confusion against my entry? Is it only the
trees’
Large shadows
from the outside street lamp blown?
Phantom to phantom leaning; strange
women weep
Aloud,
suddenly on my mind
Startling a fear unspeakable, as the shuddering wind
Breaks and sobs in the
blind.
So like to women, tall strange women
weeping!
Why
continually do they cross the bed?
Why does my soul contract with unnatural
fear?
I am
listening! Is anything said?
Ever the long black figures swoop by
the bed;
They seem
to be beckoning, rushing away, and
beckoning.
Whither then, whither, what is
it, say
What is the
reckoning.
Tall black Bacchae of midnight, why
then, why
Do you
rush to assail me?
Do I intrude on your rites nocturnal?
What should it avail
me?
Is there some great Iacchos of these
slopes
Suburban
dismal?
Have I
profaned some female mystery, orgies
Black and phantasmal?