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The world by the gathering twilight
In a gauzy dusk was clad；
It went in through my eyes to my spirit；
And made me a little sad。
Grew and gathered the twilight；
And filled my heart and brain；
The sadness grew more than sadness；
And turned to a gentle pain。
Browned and brooded the twilight；
And sank down through the calm；
Till it seemed for some human sorrows
There could not be any balm。
IV。
Then I knew that； up a staircase；
Which untrod will yet creak and shake；
Deep in a distant chamber；
A ghost was coming awake。
In the growing darkness growing
Growing till her eyes appear；
Like spots of a deeper twilight；
But more transparent clear
Thin as hot air up…trembling；
Thin as a sun…molten crape；
The deepening shadow of something
Taketh a certain shape；
A shape whose hands are uplifted
To throw back her blinding hair；
A shape whose bosom is heaving；
But draws not in the air。
And I know； by what time the moonlight
On her nest of shadows will sit；
Out on the dim lawn gliding
That shadow of shadows will flit。
V。
The moon is dreaming upward
From a sea of cloud and gleam；
She looks as if she had seen us
Never but in a dream。
Down that stair I know she is coming；
Bare…footed； lifting her train；
It creaks notshe hears it creaking；
For the sound is in her brain。
Out at the side…door she's coming；
With a timid glance right and left！
Her look is hopeless yet eager；
The look of a heart bereft。
Across the lawn she is flitting；
Her eddying robe in the wind！
Are her fair feet bending the grasses？
Her hair is half lifted behind！
VI。
Shall I stay to look on her nearer？
Would she start and vanish away？
No； no； she will never see me；
If I stand as near as I may！
It is not this wind she is feeling；
Not this cool grass below；
'Tis the wind and the grass of an evening
A hundred years ago。
She sees no roses darkling；
No stately hollyhocks dim；
She is only thinking and dreaming
Of the garden； the night； and him；
Of the unlit windows behind her；
Of the timeless dial…stone；
Of the trees； and the moon； and the shadows；
A hundred years agone。
'Tis a night for all ghostly lovers
To haunt the best…loved spot：
Is he come in his dreams to this garden？
I gaze； but I see him not。
VII。
I will not look on her nearer
My heart would be torn in twain；
》From mine eyes the garden would vanish
In the falling of their rain！
I will not look on a sorrow
That darkens into despair；
On the surge of a heart that cannot
Yet cannot cease to bear！
My soul to hers would be calling
She would hear no word it said；
If I cried aloud in the stillness；
She would never turn her head！
She is dreaming the sky above her；
She is dreaming the earth below：
This night she lost her lover；
A hundred years ago。
CHAPTER XXVIII。
A PRESENCE YET NOT A PRESENCE。
The twilight had fallen while he wrote； and the wind had risen。 It
was now blowing a gale。 When he could no longer see； he rose to
light his lamp； and looked out of the window。 All was dusk around
him。 Above and below was nothing to be distinguished from the mass；
nothing and something seemed in it to share an equal uncertainty。 He
heard the wind； but could not see the clouds that swept before it；
for all was cloud overhead； and no change of light or feature showed
the shifting of the measureless bulk。 Gray stormy space was the
whole idea of the creation。 He was gazing into a voidwas it not
rather a condition of things inappreciable by his senses？ A strange
feeling came over him as of looking from a window in the wall of the
visible into the region unknown； to man shapeless quite； therefore
terrible； wherein wander the things all that have not yet found or
form or sensible embodiment； so as to manifest themselves to eyes or
ears or hands of mortals。 As he gazed； the huge shapeless hulks of
the ships of chaos； dimly awful suggestions of animals uncreate； yet
vaguer motions of what was not； came heaving up； to vanish； even
from the fancy； as they approached his window。 Earth lay far below；
invisible； only through the night came the moaning of the sea； as
the wind drove it； in still enlarging waves； upon the flat shore； a
level of doubtful grass and sand； three miles away。 It seemed to his
heart as if the moaning were the voice of the darkness； lamenting；
like a repentant Satan or Judas； that it was not the light； could
not hold the light； might not become as the light； but must that
moment cease when the light began to enter it。 Darkness and moaning
was all that the earth contained！ Would the souls of the mariners
shipwrecked this night go forth into the ceaseless turmoil？ or would
they； leaving behind them the sense for storms； as for all things
soft and sweet as well； enter only a vast silence； where was nothing
to be aware of but each solitary self？ Thoughts and theories many
passed through Donal's mind as he sought to land the conceivable
from the wandering bosom of the limitless； and he was just arriving
at the conclusion； that； as all things seen must be after the
fashion of the unseen whence they come； as the very genius of
embodiment is likeness； therefore the soul of man must of course
have natural relations with matter； but； on the other hand； as the
spirit must be the home and origin of all this moulding；
assimilating； modelling energy； and the spirit only that is in
harmonious oneness with its origin can fully exercise the deputed
creative power； it can be only in proportion to the eternal life in
them； that spirits are able to draw to themselves matter and clothe
themselves in it； so entering into full relation with the world of
storms and sunsets；he was； I say； just arriving at this hazarded
conclusion； when he started out of his reverie； and was suddenly all
ear to listen。Again！Yes！ it was the same sound that had sent him
that first night wandering through the house in fruitless quest！ It
came in two or three fitful chords that melted into each other like
the colours in the lining of a shell； then ceased。 He went to the
door； opened it； and listened。 A cold wind came rushing up the
stair。 He heard nothing。 He stepped out on the stair； shut his door；
and listened。 It came againa strange unearthly musical cry！ If
ever disembodied sound went wandering in the wind； just such a sound
must it be！ Knowing little of music save in the forms of tone and
vowel…change and rhythm and rime； he felt as if he could have
listened for ever to the wild wandering sweetness of its
lamentation。 Almost immediately it ceasedthen once more came
again； apparently from far off； dying away on the distant tops of
the billowy air； out of whose wandering bosom it had first issued。
It was as the wailing of a summer…wind caught and swept along in a
tempest from the frozen north。
The moment he ceased to expect it any more； he began to think
whether it must not have come from the house。 He stole down the
stairto do what； he did not know。 He could not go following an
airy nothing all over the castle： of a great part of it he as yet
knew nothing！ His constructive mind had yearned after a complete
idea of the building； for it was almost a passion with him to fit
the outsides and insides of things together； but there were suites
of rooms into which； except the earl and lady Arctura were to leave
home； he could not hope to enter。 It was little more than
mechanically therefore that he went vaguely after the sound； and ere
he was half…way down the stair； he recognized the hopelessness of
the pursuit。 He went on； however； to the schoolroom； where tea was
waiting him。
He had returned to his room； and was sitting again at work； now
reading and meditating； when； in one of the lulls of the storm； he
became aware of another soundone most unusual to his ears； for he
never required any attendance in his roomthat of steps coming up
the stairheavy steps； not as of one on some ordinary errand。 He
waited listening。 The steps came nearer and nearer； and stopped at
his door。 A hand fumbled about upon it； found the latch； lifted it；
and entered。 To Donal's wonderand dismay as well； it was the earl。
His dismay arose from his appearance： he was deadly pale； and his
eyes more like those of a corpse than a man among his living
fellows。 Donal started to his feet。
The apparition turned its head towards him； but in its look was no
atom of recognition； no acknowledgment or even perception of his
presence； the sound of his rising had had merely a half…mechanical
influence upon its brain。 It turned away immediately； and went on to
the window。 There it stood； much as Donal had stood a little while
beforelooking out； but with the attitude of one listening rather
than one trying to see。 There was indeed nothing but the blackness
to be seenand nothing to be heard but the roaring of the wind；
with the roaring of the great billows rolled along in it。 As it
stood； the time to Donal seemed long： it was but about five minutes。
Was the man out of his mind； or only a sleep…walker？ How could he be
asleep so early in the night？
As Donal stood doubting