And through the wide-flung casement reaching hand With cold and spectral finger touched the plates Of his dead father's armor till it gleamed One mass of silver. There it stood complete, That august panoply which once struck dread To foemen on the sunny plains of France, Menacing, terrible, this instant stood, With vizard down and jousting-lance at charge As if that crumbled knight were quick within. A footfall on the shingle walk below Grated, a footfall light as Mercury's Disdaining earth, and Wyndham in the dark, Half crouched upon the settle with his nails Indenting the soft wood-work, held his breath. Then suddenly a blind rage like a flame Swept over him and hurled him to his feet-- Such rage as must have seized the soul of Cain Meeting his brother in the stubble-field. Anon came one that hummed a blithe sea-song, As he were fresh from tavern and brave cheer, And held the stars that blinked there in the blue Boon comrades. Singing in high-hearted way, His true-love's kiss a memory on his lip, Straight on he came to unrenowned end Whose dream had been in good chain-mail to die On some well-foughten field, at set of sun, With glorious peal of trumpets on his ear Proclaiming victory. So had he dreamed. And there, within an arch at the stair-top And screened behind a painted hanging-cloth Of coiled gold serpents ready to make spring, Ignoble Death stood, his convulsive hand Grasping a rapier part-way down the blade To deal the blow with deadly-jewelled hilt-- Black Death, turned white with horror of himself. Straight on came he that sang the blithe sea-song; And now his step was on the stair, and now He neared the blazoned hanging-cloth, and now... The lights were out, and all life lay in trance On floor or pallet, blanketed to chin, Each in his mask of sullen-seeming death-- Fond souls that recked not what was in the air, Else had the dead man's scabbard as it clashed Against the balustrade, then on the tiles, Brought awkward witness. One base hind there was Had stolen a venison-pasty on the shelf, And now did penance; him the fall half roused From dreadful nightmare; once he turned and gasped, Then straightway snored again. No other sound Within the dream-enchanted house was heard, Save that the mastiff, lying at the gate With visionary bone, snarled in his sleep. Secret as bridal-kiss may murder be,