I SAW a weird procession glide along The vestibule before the Lion's gate; A Man of godlike limb and warrior state, Who never looked behind him, led the throng; Next a pale Girl, singing sweet sorrow, met My eyes, who ever pointed to a fleck Of ingrained crimson on her marble neck; Her a fierce Woman, armed with knife and net, Close followed, whom a Youth pursued with smile, Once mild, now bitter-mad, himself the while Pursued by three foul Shapes, gory and grey: Dread family! ... I saw another day The phantom of that Youth, sitting alone, Quiet, thought-bound, a stone upon a stone. |