“Black and green; with sober sheen;
They wander to and fro.
But none of mortal birth may glean
The rhythm; or why ’tis so.”
Aghast by these secret words of power,
From my forehead dripped an acrid shower
Of clotted sweat, and my trembling knees
Quaked together, like nude limbs of trees
Bark and knock on a wintry night,
For the pith of my soul was bathed in fright.