  The wind was on the forest, And silence on the wold; And darkness on the waters, And heaven was starry cold; When Sleep, with mystic magic, Bade me this thing behold: This side, an iron woodland; That side, an iron waste; And heaven, a tower of iron, Wherein the wan moon paced, Still as a phantom woman, Ice-eyed and icy-faced. And through the haunted tower Of silence and of night, My Soul and I went only, My Soul, whose face was white, Whose one hand signed me listen, One bore a taper-light. For, lo! a voice behind me Kept sighing in my ear The dreams my flesh accepted, My mind refused to hear— Of one I loved and loved not, Whose spirit now spake near. And, lo! a voice before me Kept calling constantly The hopes my mind accepted, My flesh refused to see— Of one I loved and loved not, Whose spirit spake to me. This way the one would bid me; This way the other saith:— Sweet is the voice behind me Of Life that followeth; And sweet the voice before me Of Life whose name is Death. |
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