—How black gulps open the secret channel!
Now cautiously step, and thy bridal garb
Swirled warm with a mantle o' fur ... she plants
One foot—then a pause—on the stair—So, Barb,
So!—If the tempest that barks and pants
Would throttle itself with its yelps! then I
Might hear but one footstep echo and sing
Down the ugly ... there! 'tis her fingers try
The massy bolts which the rust makes cling."
But ever some whim of the wind that shook