Fragment: The Trystyng One winter night, at half past nine, Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, I had come home, too late to dine, And supper, with cigars and wine, Was waiting in the study.
There was a strangeness in the room, And Something white and wavy Was standing near me in the gloom
I took it for the carpet broom Left by that careless slavey.
But presently the Thing began To shiver and to sneeze:

Tags: phantasmagoria