Framed by the open doorway, wreathing
Sarabands of ghostly shadows,
Slowly turning, slowly breathing,
Largely and unhastily,--
But the garden held its breath.

Peace as profound as death, if death
Be visited by stealthy dreams;
A vagrant note from soundless themes
That ring the comet-paths of space,
Seemed vibrant in the windless air
That trembled with its presence there.
Out beyond the nameless place
Where neither fields nor clouds exist,
Grey from the background of the mist,
I saw three vague forms drawing near.
My sense recoiled acute with fear;
I could not stir. As from a cage
I watched that spectral dim cortege
Moving inexorable and slow
Against the ashen afterglow.
Now caught the moon their robes in white,
Now strode they sable through the night,
Across the grass they came and grew
Whiter, statelier, as they drew
Beneath the shadow of the wall;
Then one by one the three stepped through
The garden door, and stood a while
Beside the pool, their image spread
Sombre, and menacing, and tall.