Those forms we fancy shadows, those strange lights br That flash on lone morasses, the quick wind br That smites us by the roadside are the Night's br Innumerable children. Unconfined br By shroud or coffin, disembodied souls, br Still on probation, steal into the air br From ancient battlefields and churchyard knolls br At the day's ending. Pestilence and despair br Fly with the startled bats at set of sun; br And wheresoever murders have been done, br In crowded palaces or lonely woods, br Where'er a soul has sold itself and lost br Its high inheritance, there, hovering, broods br Some mute, invisible, accursèd ghost.