II

Then first I knew, seeing that head bent low, How gravely all her days she needs must go, Bearing an image in her faded breast....

O, the dark unrest Of thoughts that never cease their flight, Never vanishing, yet never still, Like birds that wail round the bewildering nest! But other nestlings never shall be hers, Only a painful image his place fill, Only a memory remain for her thin bosom to nurse In all that dark unrest Of sleepless and tormented night.