. . .A phantom earth with magical, bright seas, A vaster heaven of unrevealed stars. Unmoving, on a headland of swart crag That jutted gaunt and sharp against the night, Stood Oswald, cowled and silent. Hour by hour He gazed across the sea, which nothing shadowed, Save where--now dim, now white--a lonely sail Hung, restless, o'er a fisher's barren toil. Yet Oswald saw nor sail nor moon nor sea: His heart kept vigil by the little house Wherein the stranger slumbered; and it seemed His life, by some strange power within him stayed, Awaited the unlatching of the door. But now, within the hut, the sleeper dreamt Of foaming caverns and o'erwhelming waters; Then, shuddering awake, awhile she lay, And watched the moonlight, cold and white, which poured Through the warm dusk, from the high window-slit; When, all at once, the strangeness of the room Closed in upon her with bewildering dread. She stirred; the bents, beneath her, rustled strange; She started in affright, and,. . . Read More