Where was I last Friday night?—
Within the Forest of dark Dreams
Following a form of shadowy white
With my own wild face it seems.—
Did a raven's wing just fan my hair?
Or a web-winged bat brush by my face?
Or the hand of—something I did not dare
Look round to see in that obscene place!
Where the boughs, with their leaves a-devil's-dance,
And the thorn-tree bush, where the wind made moan,