 | Imaginary Sonnets |  |
20
THE DUKE OF MILAN TO SHADOWS AND SOUNDS.
(1430.)
Who wraps me in a clammy cloak of fear?
The air seems full of throttling hands that float
Invisible, and play about my throat,
While unseen daggers tickle, ever near.
The air seems full of throttling hands that float
Invisible, and play about my throat,
While unseen daggers tickle, ever near.
Shade teems with eyes, while close to me I hear
A constant stealthy step; and spite the coat
Of mail beneath my shirt, spite walls and moat,
I quail as every rustle meets my ear.
A constant stealthy step; and spite the coat
Of mail beneath my shirt, spite walls and moat,
I quail as every rustle meets my ear.
O thrice curst need of food! I force my teeth
To chew, my throat to swallow. Is there not
In every dish the tasteless spice of death?
To chew, my throat to swallow. Is there not
In every dish the tasteless spice of death?
Spare me, ye shapes, that crouch in each dark spot;
Move not, ye curtains, with the summer's breath;
Your ceaseless rustlings make my live blood clot.
Move not, ye curtains, with the summer's breath;
Your ceaseless rustlings make my live blood clot.
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