When deep sleep fell on men,[809] and the World wore
The starry darkness round her like a girdle
Spangled with gems—the Monk made his blood curdle.
CXIV.
A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass,[810]
Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter,
Like showers which on the midnight gusts will pass,
Sounding like very supernatural water,
Came over Juan's ear, which throbbed, alas!
For Immaterialism's a serious matter;