Of moonlight stirs far off***and hear
Curst mandragores that gibber to the moon,
Though no man treads anigh.***
(After an interval)
Some predal hand doth halt the wandering air;
Now dies the throttled wind with rattling breath,
And round about a breathing Silence prowls.
(After another interval)
I hear the cheeping of the bat-lipped ghouls,
Aroused beneath the vaulted cypresses