Nor anger showed, nor shame, nor fear, nor sorrow, nor surprise;
At every step, from soul to soul a nameless horror ran,
And made us pale and silent as that[141] silent murdered man.
She sat, and calmly soothed her child into a slumber sweet;
Calmly the bright blood on the floor crawled[142] red around our feet.
On placid fruits and bread lay soft the shadows of the wine,
And we like marble statues glared—a chill, unmoving line.
All white, all cold; and moments thus flew by without a breath,
A company of living things where all was still—but death;[143]
My hair rose up from roots of ice as there unnerved I stood