While, with its hundred eyes of jet,
Peer'd darkness from the tangled wood.
Amid a bank of clouds the moon
A sad and troubled glimmer shed;
The wind its chilly wings unclosed,
And whistled wildly round my head.
Night framed a thousand phantoms dire,
Yet did I never droop nor start;
Within my veins what living fire!
What quenchless glow within my heart!