Xiii

So I sang and I harped till all weary I sunk on the red of that robe, Crouched down at his feet on the satin, While he slumbered with eyelashes teary Fringed dark o'er each eye-ball's dark globe. Then I wondered and said, "It is dreary To see him so still on this robe." And I sobbed and I sobbed, "Is he living, Or have I but slain with my song!" And it seemed that a demon was striving To strangle my heart with a thong, With terror and sorrow of wrong.