In that sore hour around thy bed there stood

In that sore hour around thy bed there stood
A silent guard of shadows, each equipped
With dart or arrow aimed against thy life.
Thy breath came slowly all that awful night;
Outside I heard the wind and earth at strife,
And on the window's ledge incessant dripped
The pitiless rain. At last I left thy room,
And passing out, upon its threshold's edge

Who should I meet but Death! A wan clear light
Fell from his fathomless eyes, his brow was gloom,
His rustling raiment seemed to sigh like sedge
When the salt marsh- winds wail and beat thereon.
He paused, he turned; and while I stood and wept
Behold a crimson signal waved and shone
On the door's lintel, even such an one
As he obeyed in Egypt, and I knew
Death heard some higher summons, and withdrew:
When I returned, like a tired child you slept.