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The Poetical Works of George MacDonald (Parables)

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IV.

Then I knew that, up a staircase Which untrod will yet creak and shake, Deep in a distant chamber
A ghost was coming awake--

In the growing darkness growing, Growing till her eyes appear Like spots of a deeper twilight, But more transparent clear:

Thin as hot air up-trembling, Thin as sun-molten crape,
An ethereal shadow of something Is taking a certain shape;

A shape whose hands hang listless, Let hang its disordered hair; A shape whose bosom is heaving But draws not in the air.

And I know, what time the moonlight On her nest of shadows will sit, Out on the dim lawn gliding That shadowy shadow will flit.

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