Phantasmagoria by D.H. Lawrence — Read

RIGID sleeps the house in darkness, I alone / Like a thing unwarrantable cross the hall / And climb the stairs to find the group of doors / Standing angel-stern and tall.

I want my own room's shelter. But what is this / Throng of startled beings suddenly thrown / In confusion against my entry? Is it only the trees' / Large shadows from the outside street lamp blown?

Phantom to phantom leaning; strange women weep / Aloud, suddenly on my mind / Startling a fear unspeakable, as the shuddering wind / Breaks and sobs in the blind.

So like to women, tall strange women weeping! / Why continually do they cross the bed? / Why does my soul contract with unnatural fear? / I am listening! Is anything said?

Ever the long black figures swoop by the bed; / They seem to be beckoning, rushing away, and beckoning. / Whither then, whither, what is it, say / What is the reckoning.

Tall black Bacchae of midnight, why then, why / Do you rush to assail me? / Do I intrude on your rites nocturnal? / What should it avail me?

Is there some great Iacchos of these slopes / Suburban dismal? / Have I profaned some female mystery, orgies / Black and phantasmal?