'Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling, <br />One glimmering lamp was expiring and low,-- <br />Around the dark tide of the tempest was swelling, <br />Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling, <br />They bodingly presaged destruction and woe! <br /> <br />'Twas then that I started, the wild storm was howling, <br />Nought was seen, save the lightning that danced on the sky, <br />Above me the crash of the thunder was rolling, <br />And low, chilling murmurs the blast wafted by.-- <br /> <br />My heart sank within me, unheeded the jar <br />Of the battling clouds on the mountain-tops broke, <br />Unheeded the thunder-peal crashed in mine ear, <br />This heart hard as iron was stranger to fear, <br />But conscience in low noiseless whispering spoke. <br />’Twas then that her form on the whirlwind uprearing, <br />The dark ghost of the murdered Victoria strode, <br />Her right hand a blood reeking dagger was bearing, <br />She swiftly advanced to my lonesome abode.-- <br />I wildly then called on the tempest to bear me! <br />... <br />...<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fragment-or-the-triumph-of-conscience/
