One lonely ray that glanced upon a Bed,
As if with awful aim direct and certain
To show the BLOODY HAND in burning red
Embroider'd on the curtain.
And yet no gory stain was on the quilt—
The pillow in its place had slowly rotted;
The floor alone retain'd the trace of guilt,
Those boards obscurely spotted.
Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence
With mazy doubles to the grated casement—