So touched her countenance that dark intent:
And in still eyes her thoughts were evident,
As in dark waters, luminous and deep,
The heavens glass themselves when o'er them sweep
The clouds of storm and austere stars they keep,—
Ghostly and gray,—locked in their steadfast gloom.
Then, as if some great wind had swept the room,
Silent, intense, she rose up from her seat.
As if dim arms had made her a retreat,
Secret as thought to move in, like a ghost,