George Rostrevor Hamilton

Fog

Ten paces round me solid earth stretches,
Moving as I move through impalpable regions
Of space unbounded, unreal, untenanted,
Or tenanted, if tenanted, by powerless anatomies,
Unbreathing hosts, phantom legjons.

Ochreous lights hang, stars of an underworld,
In the bronze vapour. Unsupported branches
Trail a thin tapestry. Softly, a footfall!
Passes a shadow, a tall shadow what memory,
As of a fierce dream, her face blanches?

So to yEneas, moving obscurely
Through the dim groves and Avernian meadows,
So may have shone the white face of Dido,
Silently scorning him, scorning his entreaties
Then fled away through crowding shadows.