His mattock through them with a cursed clash
That made the lone aisle echo. But anon
He fell upon a skull—a haggard one,
With its teeth set, and the great orbless eye
Revolving darkness, like eternity.
And in his hand he held it till it grew
To have the fleshy features and the hue
Of life. He gazed, and gazed, and it became
Like to his Agathè—all, all the same!
He drew it nearer,—the cold, bony thing!—