Thou Leanest To The Shell Of Night

Thou leanest to the shell of night,

Dear lady, a divining ear.

In that soft choiring of delight

What sound hath made thy heart to fear ?

Seemed it of rivers rushing forth

From the grey deserts of the north?

That mood of thine, O timorous,

Is his, if thou but scan it well,

Who a mad tale bequeaths to us

At ghosting hour conjurable —

And all for some strange name he read

In Purchas or in Holinshed.