The Forest of Dreams

I

Where was I last Friday night?--
Within the Forest of dark Dreams
Following the blur of a goblin light,
That led me over dreadful streams,
Whereon the scum of the spawn was spread,
And the blistered slime, in stagnant seams;
Where the weed and the moss swam black and dead,
Like a drowned girl's hair, in the ropy ooze:
And the jack-o'-lantern light that led
Flickered the foxfire trees o'erhead,
And the owl-like things at airy cruise.

II

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,
Had more than a strange significance
Of life and of evil not their own.

III

Where was I last Friday night?--
Within the Forest of dark Dreams
Seeing the mists rise left and right,
Like the leathery fog that heaves and steams
From the rolling horror of Hell's red streams:
While the wind, that tossed in the tattered tree,
And danced alone with the last mad leaf--
Or was it the wind?... kept whispering me,
"Come! bury it here with its own black grief,
And its heart of fire that naught can save!"--
And there in the darkness I seemed to see
My own self digging my soul a grave.