Out of the fog-banks dank and yellow,
As I groped like a soul alone,
The shadow lurched of a drunken fellow,
Blasphemous, ragged, and then was gone.
Swift the shape of a stranger-woman—
Soft-shod maidenhood? draggled quean?
Only I know it was something human—
Passed, and was as it had not been.
Claspèd lovers with footfall muffled
Faded by ere I caught their bloom,