White as a mist and short, and like a sigh,
Heaved with a struggle, till it faltered by.
And ever he did look upon the corse
With idiot visage, like the hag Remorse
That gloateth over on a nameless deed
Of darkness and of dole unhistoried.
And were there that might hear him, they would hear
The murmur of a prayer in deep fear
Through unbarr’d lips, escaping by the half,
And all but smother’d by a maniac laugh,