vi

Then waiting, watching, judging news, Then terror in the night— I used to start up with the dews All over me of fright. I dream'd of him on stormy seas; Then, in a woodland bare, I saw my love on hands and knees, With blood upon his hair.

Along the limits of the wood, A green bank full of holes, With lichen'd stumps which lean'd or stood Like crazy channel-poles: 'Twas there I saw my love's drawn face, A face of paper-white, Wherein just for a choking space His eyes shone burning bright;

Then faded, and an eyeless man He crawled along the wood, And from his hair a black line ran And broaden'd into blood. It was not horror of him wrong'd, It was not pity mov'd me; It was, those tortur'd eyes belong'd To one who'd never lov'd me.

That was my love in face and shape, That was my love in pain; But something told me past escape That not by him I'd lain. I sat and star'd into the night, And still most dreadfully I saw those two eyes burning white That never had seen me!